Is this going to be a weird year? I decided to go get leafy greens, raw mushrooms, sushi, and an Epic meat bar. I had some funny sensations. Where can I buy raw organic grassfed caribou brains at this hour?
I’m, like, washing dishes now or something.
If I have to individually beat the shit out of every human being between here and Wegmans and also at Wegmans, if it would get somebody to cut back his schedule so he has five seconds of free time, then I will. Who is his advocate? It is possible to control the schedule. I’ve done it before.
No quieres muchas notas todos días. Porque puedo, verdad. Muy muchas.
Tengo una nota aquí ahora! Pero tengo miedo mucho. I did not give it during the easiest moment! I was full of fear. I have it still. It is only a love note, just telling him I care. It is in my pocket!
cheap dish gloves incident. Dish gloves need to be durable and redesigned. A new concept in dish gloves.August 21, 2016
I have been wanting to tell this little story for weeks because it was amusing and ironic.
I’ve been complaining about how passionately I hate dish gloves, and how the manufacturers have a ‘Dish Glove Conspiracy,’ where every single manufacturer uses the same strategy: make the gloves as shitty as possible, so that you have to buy new ones every couple days if you are really serious about using them. No one, not a single one, uses the strategy of making durable dish gloves that are so strong they will last a lifetime and you can hand them down to your children. There are no alternatives. You have a choice between Shitty Dish Glove Brand A, Shitty Dish Glove Brand B, or Shitty Dish Glove Brand C.
The dish gloves get holes poked in them after only a couple days of use. After they get one tiny hole, they are useless. If it isn’t a hole being poked by something, then it’s just simply the glove material starting to decay and becoming weaker and thinner so it just falls apart spontaneously. As soon as a tiny hole appears, the glove fills with water so your hands are no longer protected and you totally lose the value of the glove.
Why do I want gloves? For several reasons. The soap obliterates every single fingernail on both hands, so that I cannot even scratch an itch. I cannot even open the metal pop top lid on a soda can because the remaining fingernails are so soft and flimsy that they can’t get under the lid without bending backwards, so I have to pry it open with an object (I shouldn’t drink soda anyway). I scratch itches with declawed fingers all day long and it becomes extremely
Also, my hands go numb and painful from the poisonous chemicals, even though it’s ‘only soap.’ My hands are still in pain right now as we speak. It is not mere ‘dryness,’ and it does not merely need an application of ‘aloe’ or some other soothing substance, or vaseline, or anything. It feels as though the soap poisons penetrated through the skin and are destroying the nerves, probably by dissolving the fatty acids from the myelin sheaths of my nerves, which will not be helped by aloe or vaseline, although they might be helped if I dipped my hands into real animal fat, like beef tallow or lard, because that is closer to what the skin and the nerves are made of. Or real butter.
The gloves that I am imagining will not only be durable and extremely long lasting, they will also have maybe a zipper down the side so that you can get them on and off easily. They must be the right tightness, neither tight nor loose, so that they don’t squeeze and pinch your fingers, causing loss of circulation. They must also go much farther up the arm, because I am dipping my hands into deep water. The opening of the glove on the arm must be closely sealed shut, perhaps with elastic or a string or a ribbed fabric that stretches. Elastic will decay quickly with extremely hot water and chemicals, which is also the reason why the shitty rubber gloves decay so quickly. The gloves must be made of such durable material that no amount of scalding hot water and chemicals will destroy it.
Well, after all of this, there was a day a couple weeks ago where my very last dish glove was destroyed. I asked if it was okay for me to run down the street to CVS to get some more. Freddy (the manager) offered to help me out by buying the gloves for me, which was nice, so I let him pay for them. However, he wanted to know if there was a cheaper way to buy dish gloves, maybe at someplace like Wal-Mart, because surely they must be very expensive at someplace like CVS in town. I said I didn’t know and I could rarely if ever go shopping at Wal-Mart right now, so I wasn’t able to find out.
I know it doesn’t sound funny when I tell the story, but when he said it, I had an instant reaction of ‘OH GOD NO.’ He said something like ‘Isn’t there a way that you could get them any cheaper?’ And I was like, ‘AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!’ hahahaha…. because you see, the problem is the dish gloves are already absolutely the cheapest pieces of crap that anyone has every made of anything. Making them EVEN CHEAPER is the WORST POSSIBLE thing that I could do. All that I have wanted, all this time, is to find dish gloves that are MORE EXPENSIVE and BETTER QUALITY so that they last forever and fit properly and perform their function.
So to me, during this conversation when he said, ‘Isn’t it possible to get them cheaper?’ that instantly pushed my ‘pet peeve’ button, the ‘Do Not Push This Big Red Button Because I Will Start Complaining About Something’ button. He pushed that button. The irony was very amusing. I understood, of course, that he only meant cheaper in price, but the same gloves. Just buy the same brand at a different location – that was what he was saying. But my ears heard ‘buy gloves that are even worse quality than the ones you already are battling with.’ Or, more than that, just that we were going in totally the wrong direction, when I would be willing to pay $50 for a pair of dish gloves that would last forever and wouldn’t need replaced and would fit properly. It was actually funny and I wasn’t mad at him; I knew what he was trying to suggest. I just can’t get to Wal-Mart very often because it requires the bus.
My hands are in pain right now as I’m typing. I am sometimes losing patience with the dish gloves, taking them off, and washing dishes without them. I have a choice between gloves that are so loose and floppy that water goes in around the wrist and the fingers are so loose that I can’t grab anything, versus gloves that are so small and tight I lose the circulation in my fingers and every single knuckle is pinching painfully around the gloves when I close my fingers. There is no proper fit where it is neither too loose nor too tight. Also, when they are tight, I can’t pull them on and off quickly, which I do frequently when switching to other tasks. I need gloves that can be easily removed and easily put back on, which is why I want something like a zipper, or elastic. Or even ‘suspenders.’ I wouldn’t mind having ‘suspenders’ for the ‘waders’ that are on my arms – the suspenders would attach to some kind of thing up near my sleeves.
I know that the gloves slow me down because the fingers are too loose for me to grab things and handle small objects. So that is why I take them off when I’m in a hurry. But then I regret it horribly for days as my fingernails start to vanish once again, or else they remain but they are bending backwards if I try to use them. I’m regretting it now as everything I touch is causing a stinging sensation because of the chemical burns. There is a constant stinging coming from my hands right now.
This is exactly the kind of thing that I include under ‘Nakrivich,’ the catch-all word for everything that I hate about our society and our world. There is ABSOLUTELY NO REASON why in the year 2016 in the USA it is impossible to find any decent dish gloves at the store. This is ‘capitalism!’ We are supposed to have innovation! We are supposed to have variety! But what we have is this banking system that encourages fly-by-night companies that produce utter worthless garbage in slave countries like China, and trade partnerships and stuff that destroy the economy and reduce the amount of variety that we have, and reduce the durability of all the goods produced, so that nothing, anywhere, can be found that is high quality. And the costs of doing business are so high that people will do anything to cut costs merely to stay in business. If they didn’t have to pay $10,000 a month in rent to operate a business, they would be able to afford to spend more of their money on actually producing high quality goods. Nakrivich! I’m gonna keep saying that word.
I suspect she might possibly have been another female SLI like me. I almost never encounter female SLIs, only male ones.
this food is, indeed, truly horrible. But it’s worse than I thought it would be. I got cheesy bread, because I was too tired to think clearly and realize that I was going to hate cheesy bread. It has hardly any spinach in it, and it doesn’t taste good with the marinara dipping sauce. I am not a big bread eater. I was just starving. I could have had ranch sauce or garlic, but the garlic sauce from Domino’s is gag-inducingly disgusting. I want real butter, not oil. I want real garlic. I want to make my own garlic sauce. I did make it once and it was good. I just can’t cook right now. I want real food again, REAL FOOD. No one can make real food but me! No one can write real music but me. No one can arrange my workspaces properly but me. Nobody can design a filter but me. Nobody can design a dating website but me. Everything is horrible and there aren’t enough female SLIs around to fix it.
I just ordered some horrible food to be delivered. I have nothing in the fridge except leftover kidney, which I ate some of earlier today. I am so hungry I can’t even think anymore. I can’t even think about alternatives, such as OrderUp, which might have some restaurants with better food than I am getting. I just got the absolute worst junk from Domino’s.
Could I have a relationship with Agustin? Yes, it might be similar to my relationship with Jesse. We would be able to enjoy watching movies together, snuggling, having sex. I could cook for him at home, if I knew what he wanted to eat. The socionic mirage relationship is able to have a conversation but after a little while it fizzles out and they run out of things to say. It would be possible to think of more ideas of what to talk about if there were other people there in the room socializing, so that it wasn’t just the two of us talking to each other alone. We would have good conversations in a group of people. I use a weird socionics model, and in that model, you can sort of almost dualize with business relations, so if we had an ILI-INTp or IEE-ENFp in the room (of any gender, outside the relationship) that person would be able to help a lot with the conversation. I tend to talk quite well with my ‘business’ relations (also known as
‘lookalikes’) as though I am dualizing with their base function, which is why I like my weird socionics model.
The purpose of socionics is to tell you how the future will go, how it’s going to happen in the long distant future, in your relationship. There will be particular kinds of problems that will never go away no matter how hard you try and no matter how much marriage counseling you get. These personality types are so fundamental, they exist the same in all races of humans, as though they already existed before we even became human. They are a fundamental part of our anatomy, an anatomical variation, something in the physical shape of the brain.
Oh, I should turn on the porch light for the pizza driver.
Anyway… I am starving, but I drank some coffee.
I would always know that Agustin needed something other than physical comfort, and me, too. We would be able to have conversations, but we would both be lacking something. I only am talking about a socionic relation, so I would not want Agustin to think that I am criticizing him personally. These relations are an abstract idea that applies to every person even if you don’t know them. It’s a prediction of what will happen. I haven’t actually had conversations with Agustin, other than our first text messaging session after which we became unable to get a reply, for unknown reasons, which I still do not know.
But is it a horrible relation, filled with fights and arguing? No. It’s relatively stable and it has a lot of warmth and affection. We get along, but we just sort of bore each other and fail to fulfill each other’s dreams of true love. We fail to understand some things that we both need somebody to understand. But not a bad relation, not a violently hate-filled relation. That is what socionics predicts will happen.
So, does he have anything at all to gain by being with me, even a couple times a month just for physical comfort? Can he find other girls? Does he have a true love? Does he already have a girlfriend? I don’t know the answers to any of those questions. I only know it is a tragic waste to let his gorgeous body not be enjoyed or shared, especially with the mood I was in yesterday when I know for certain I was ovulating and my body was ready for pregnancy. Is anyone else ever with him, or is he alone? Does he have a long-distance girlfriend someplace far away, or back in Guatemala? There aren’t a ton of Spanish-speaking people nearby, so his choices are limited, or else he has to try to speak English and find women in this town.
I am waiting for my horrible food to be delivered. I want to cook my own food in my own fridge. I want a single apartment. I want to control the space. I am hesitating on offers that I have received to share a room with various people – I have had some answers to ads that I put on Craigslist and one or two friends and acquaintances who have also offered to help. I really, really want a single room where I have total control over the environment and my working spaces and my privacy, even if it is hugely expensive to have a single room. It might actually be worth that extra money if I have total control over the space and the working areas. I am that serious about how important it is – total control over workspace, even at the huge cost of a single room. I might try this, just once – find single rooms, pay $800 a month, work like a fucking Guatemalan, have four jobs.
I’ve decided that switching over to homemade coffee did indeed trigger a partial caffeine withdrawal. I am either getting a different form of caffeine, or just less of it. I also think there’s something in freshly ground coffee, or in a freshly opened pack of ground coffee, that is vaporized into the air which vanishes quickly after it sits there for a day or two, which is why the coffee is strong on the first day and weak every other day later on.
Despair comes with caffeine withdrawal. If I withdrew completely, I would feel even greater despair. Despair is not a permanent state, but rather a temporary stage of withdrawal. I would love, love, love to do complete and total caffeine withdrawal.
If I can remember to do this, I’m going to do experiments with washing the dishes in the washer without spraying them first. I don’t like to put them on the left sink and spray them there, for a couple of reasons.
1. There is (or was – I ruined it) a little drain cover that doesn’t even work at all. It’s this thing that doesn’t fit inside the drain. All of the drains are hopelessly badly designed. All drains for such a sink need to be much, much larger in their filter area. These drains are like three inches across, but they need to have a filter area that is like at least one foot across. It must have multiple filters that are removable, followed by one internal final filter that isn’t removable that holds it all in place. The filters must be below the level of the bottom of the sink, with an edge that projects outwards over the inside of the filter, so that stuff doesn’t go around the outside edge between the filter and the sink. It is unthinkable that all sinks have this pathetically horribly inadequate filter design, and that nobody seems to know how to design a proper filter that actually does its job. We had problems with the grease filter at McDonald’s. I am not an engineer. I am a woman. I am the inferior sex. I am a mere underpaid peon. Therefore, all of my understanding of how a filter works and how to properly design a filter must be all completely wrong.
Anyway, the filter has to have multiple stages, and they must be a certain distance apart. If they are too close together they back up. If there isn’t enough space they back up. If their area is too small they back up. This pathetically small drain instantly clogs with garbage the moment you start cleaning anything big. If you remove the tiny, tiny drain cover and dump it out, stuff goes down the drain while you are dumping it out. If you put it back on, you now have a bunch of stuff underneath the drain cover, and then, also, the drain cover itself instantly clogs back up again and has to be dumped out over and over and over. You eventually give up on using the fucking drain cover and just sit there pushing your fingers into the drain to make all the stuff go down because the drain cover is utterly useless. If you do not clean out all the stuff in the bottom of the sink then it continuously gets your dishes dirty while you are washing them, putting chunks of goo back on them as you are trying to rinse chunks of goo from other places.
The stages of the filter must get progressively smaller, so that the smallest particles are filtered out last. The grease filter at McDonald’s jumped from a filter with huge holes directly to a filter with very small holes, and would continuously clog up with medium sized particles. The filters in that thing did not have enough space height between them, causing clogging and backflow. I can understand it if I am looking at it but I don’t remember all the details right now.
So, the drain below the sprayer side, where I am ‘supposed to’ put the dishes and then spray them with the sprayer: It has a cover (which I destroyed and cannot fix, because I was trying to find a way to make it actually fit inside the drain so that stuff doesn’t just go under the edges of it) which is made out of a screen. Around the edges of the screen, sharp pointy metal wires were sticking out, so that if I tried to use my finger to clean away the chunks of food, I would poke my finger, which I did not enjoy, especially since it was in a filthy sink full of food and water and bacteria and mold left at room temperature for eternity.
The sprayer does not point sideways. I cannot spray the bottom edge of the dishes, only the exposed top edge. The chunks of food do not fall through the tray, but remain there to go into the dishwasher. Only some of the chunks fall through.
If you wash the dishes the way I was told to do it, spraying them inadequately from one side, ignoring the opposite side of the dishes which has lots of stuff on it too, then the dishes go into the washer and do not get clean at all. This is the real reason why I was told that I also have to dry off the dishes with a towel one by one while taking them out – not merely because they have water on them (which is only part of the problem), but because they are going to be covered with huge chunks of food and sludge that hasn’t been washed off, because, as my mother told me long ago, there aren’t any little people running around inside the dishwasher spraying in between all the dishes. So you have to make sure that the sprayers inside the dishwasher are able to hit the places that are covered with sludge. Most people assume that the little magic people inside the dishwasher will magically run around and go between dishes that are completely stuck together with no space in between them.
So if you let the dishes come out of the washer still covered with sludge, and then let them dry, they will dry with rock-hard pieces of food attached to them. So you’re supposed to wipe them with a towel. I prefer to make sure they are actually washed first before I put them in.
However, I’m willing to consider doing some experiments where I do a lousy, shitty, half-assed job of spraying the dishes before putting them into the washer, letting the magic people in the washer do all the work. I might run them through the washer multiple times.
I need to engineer my own appliances and my own sinks and my own computer programs, because I hate everything that everyone else has produced. I hate the fact that the people who design sinks keep designing them in a bad way that doesn’t work, forever and ever, merely because that’s always how they’ve been designed. I don’t like pointless innovations and constant changes either, but rather, if something doesn’t work then it needs to be designed differently, not just ignored and kept that way forever. Design changes must serve an important purpose, which is functionality and ergonomics. Does it do what it’s supposed to do? Is it easy to use? Do you even know why it’s designed a certain way? Do you know the purpose? It needs to be questioned.
Beautiful songs. I was talking about running themes in my life, such as the instant ruining of an appliance immediately after I buy it. Another theme has been that I will hear a beautiful song once, then never, ever, ever hear it again. It lets me know that beautiful songs exist and they are out there somewhere, but I don’t have enough time to realize that I like this song and write it down so that I can hunt for it, partly because I’m assuming that I’ll just hear it again sometime – only, I don’t. Ever.
I swear this happened at the restaurant. I had only just started working there. I don’t know what music we were listening to. All of the music is in Spanish and it seems to come from various people’s playlists, depending on whose phone it is. There was this one time when Carlos said that he liked this particular song. It just so happened that I really liked the song too. It had these beautiful melodies and skip intervals. Skip intervals are associated with intuition. I started humming along with the melody by the end of the song. The fact that two Delta ST’s, Carlos (LSE) and myself (SLI) both liked a song suggests that it might have been a Delta NF song. I never, ever heard that song again and have absolutely no clue what it was.
It wasn’t just that one time that this happened. It happens a lot. Or else, I just never even encounter the beautiful songs, but I know they are out there. If I could find them, then I could find soulmates. I could say, ‘Do you like this or that piece of music? If you agree with me that this piece of music is great, then you understand how I feel about the universe.’ I think that is the reason why I am being prevented (by mind controllers) from finding songs that I love the most. Nakrivich! No good music is allowed!
I am actually supposed to be WRITING MUSIC. WRITING MUSIC, IN ALL CAPS. I AM SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING MY OWN FUCKING, GODFORSAKEN MUSIC. But I am busy working as a slave.
I do like the Spanish music more than the unbearably horrible music I was forced to listen to all day at McDonald’s. For one thing the Spanish music often has beats of three or six, which is unthinkable in (what is that word: Yankee, gringo, USAsian, UStatean, whatever) ‘our’ music. Only a tiny minority of songs in ‘our’ music ever use beats of three or six. It is perceived as old fashioned, or waltzy. However, in reality, this is the best music to dance to. The fact that music that encourages dancing is being shunned and frowned upon fits with my claim that we are not supposed to dance. We are living in the movie ‘Footloose.’ I forget everything about that movie except that it was illegal to dance or something. It feels that way, for real. Unistatian music.
I have a problem with youtube. Often, I add songs to my list, only to have the video get deleted. It leaves me with no idea what that video was, because even the title is gone. Why can’t it at least keep the title of the video listed there so I know what was lost so that I can go look for it again? What if it was a special song and I can’t remember what it was?
I am in partial caffeine withdrawal. If only I could make the caffeine withdrawal complete, I would become human again. However, I would also become a failure at life, and I would need to get on welfare because I would become unable to support myself by working at a job. I did try several times in the past few years to quit caffeine while continuing to work. I remember I was able to do it for a while but the intense craving was unbearable. For the Frequently Suggested Solutions (similar to a FAQ), I need to say: drinking decaf coffee and drinking tea are both unacceptable solutions. Decaf coffee contains a lot of remaining caffeine and other substances. It only continues to trigger more cravings for coffee. I want to be 100% cold turkey caffeine free, no tea, no chocolate, no decaf coffee. Tea is unacceptable too. Tea causes constipation, tonsil stones (little white things stuck in the holes in your tonsils), and tooth cavities. And it contains caffeine along with other caffeine-like substances which are also forbidden – theobromine and theophylline. I don’t want those substances either.
Anyway I would always go back to drinking coffee after being off it for several days and going into a state of utter despair. I would need some kind of support to get me through the stage of total despair. Then I would need a constant reminder: It is NEVER OKAY to drink EVEN ONE cup of coffee, for the rest of your life. That is the same approach I use with alcohol. It is never okay to drink even one glass of alcohol. It is never okay to smoke even one cigarette. It is never okay to drink even one caffeinated soda. It is never okay to drink one cup of tea. I would need a lot of support with this.
I would need such support with this principle that I would continue to be supported, even as I became disabled and unable to work due to chronic fatigue syndrome. I would fail to get out of bed every day, and would still be forbidden to use caffeine even so. I would need such strong support that someone would tell me, it’s okay to fail. It’s okay to be disabled. It’s okay to be unable to work at a job. Society enslaves us, and that is wrong and evil. We are not supposed to have ‘jobs.’ We are hunter gatherers and we are supposed to get our own food ourselves, not buy it at a store in exchange for money. I would need someone to keep telling me every day, it’s never okay to drink even one cup of coffee, even if you lose your job, even if you lose all of your jobs, even if you become so disabled by chronic fatigue that you can never have a job again as long as you live. That is what I should have done from the beginning, twenty years ago, when the mind controllers, the voices in my head, broke my sacred law that forbade me to use caffeine in any form, chocolate, soda, tea, coffee, guarana, or anything else.
Without caffeine, my entire personality will change.
I’m not sure why but I am despairing this afternoon. Part of the despair was, strangely, triggered by Mike, in a way – Mike told me in email that it was okay if I stayed here a little bit longer. I need to change my thought patterns and my plan patterns, because this gives me the opportunity to do something I want to do, such as go get a real apartment with a lease, a single apartment, or else get a trailer or do something else that requires more lengthy planning and preparation over time.
However, I have despair, because I know I cannot control this time. The time will hemorrhage and nothing will get done in it, if I attempt such a project. I know I might make a futile attempt to actually do something over the short period of a few weeks or an indefinite amount of time. I know Mike doesn’t hate me and Mike never wanted to make me suffer. It was because his nephew was coming over here for a while, but now, that nephew seems to be no longer here – I haven’t seen him.
And the timing was bad – I had no money, then I got this job all of a sudden that consumes every hour of my time, and strangely enough, happily enjoying working with a bunch of fucking pygmies from Guatemala, which, it turns out, has some of the shortest men in the world on average, although there are some places who have men that are even shorter. I’ve discovered the amazing wonderfulness of short men. I don’t really want to leave these people and their community of pygmies.
And the despair, more of it – Jesse has found someone who is probably his socionic dual. It’s so easy for him to find his dual, but so hard for me to find mine. I find one, but he’s very very fat. This wouldn’t be so bad, really, except that it was horribly annoying that all he wanted to do was kiss and kiss and kiss nonstop forever and ever, which is actually an indication of physical hunger and physical thirst, rather than mere emotional bonding. He needs to eat food, not kiss. How can I be saying a fat guy needs to eat more food? Because I’m guessing he’s horribly malnourished and is probably starving himself to lose weight, although I don’t know what he eats. The urge to kiss and kiss and kiss forever, which annoyed me, is caused by an endless and insatiable hunger or thirst, which we instinctively seek to satisfy by receiving chewed food from our mother’s mouth. We try, and try, to get this chewed food by kissing, but nothing comes into our mouth with the kiss, so we keep trying endlessly. The solution is to feed him. This urge will be triggered by the malnutrition, or the lack of water, or by drugs that’s he taking (a blood thinner which is unnecessary and which I would be trying to get him to quit), or some other poison (mercury leaching from dental fillings causing sensations of sickness and nausea in the mouth, throat, and stomach), or contamination from his environment which is unknown to me.
So this fat guy who was my socionic dual annoyed me so much for other reasons that I dreaded the sight of him, and he was clingy and wanted to wait outside for me, and then, he wanted to proclaim to the whole world that he was kissing me in front of everyone. Again, I tolerated this, it was understandable, but too much of it quickly became annoying. I need a dual for the purpose of having a special kind of conversation, a special kind of information exchange, that can come from no other type of person. Physical kissing is NOT a unique type of information exchange that cannot come from any other person, although maybe I can help him seed his digestive system with my probiotic mouth bacteria. Who knows. Quien sabe.
I still don’t have my Spanish grammar. I need to open the book again. I suddenly start speaking Spanish if I take ginseng, then suddenly stop if I stop using ginseng.
But Jesse has a dual. Easy for him to find hundreds of them. That type seems to be so common and so easily available everywhere that he finds them falling from the sky into his lap. My duals are nowhere to be found.
What I find, or rather am given as a gift by my controllers, is a sweet, wonderful, gorgeous, beautiful, incredibly sexy, short in height, illegally young teenage boy who instinctively possesses magical powers of sexual seduction. Yes, this is a wonderful gift to receive; however, he is not my socionic dual, he is my socionic mirage (SEE-ESFp with SLI-ISTp), and so, he is destined to find true love elsewhere and break my heart, not merely break it but rip it out of my chest and smear my heart on the sidewalk, and I already know this feeling, many times.
He’ll find love, while I still cannot find a dual who is also sexually attractive or at the very least tolerable. And it is such a challenge merely to communicate with him when I am terrified to speak Spanish even if I know a couple words, because of perfectionism and a total refusal to make the slightest mistake in grammar or word choice. And I am terrified to speak to him or interact with him in the sight of the other guys, because I do not want to hurt anyone’s feelings, as I love them all. And I cannot be secretive either, nor am I able to take opportunities to touch him quickly as I pass by.
This despair comes over me, perhaps because of my hormones, as my body knows that I have ovulated and nothing came of it, and the time is passing and my body will die, with nothing. I am old and I cannot fight the war. I am committed to living a very, very long time, because I am 41 years old, about to turn 42, and have done nothing useful at all, so I will need several more lifetimes of this length to even begin to have a chance to do anything useful. I’m planning to go to the age of 120, but to be ambitious, I’m aiming high, for 160. That’ll give me three more lifetimes just like this one. Maybe then I’ll have enough time to get something done and get things figured out, while fighting the war, the covert wars and the overt wars, the war of electronic mind control and soul murder – will my soul ever be free and protected before I die, will I get my electromagnetic shield, will I be able to test it and improve it so it protects me even as the attackers escalate their attacks? These wars – I am supposed to fight these wars while also trying to live the life I want to live, have children, fall in love and have a husband, have a place to live, learn things, produce things, have hobbies and interests.
And I can either leave or stay from this house tonight. And nothing changes or improves. No dual, and a special wonderful gorgeous boy who is, yet, unreachable and hard to communicate with, and destined to eventually rip my heart out of my chest and destroy it when he falls in love, true love, for real, with some other girl.
The despair, and the fall, the autumn, the shortening of the days, the falling of the leaves, the cold is coming again, every year, not enough time.
I haven’t used the ginseng yet today, but I was planning to. I still want to do my laundry and still want to take a shower.
I won’t describe his movements and gestures and postures and how he somehow magically radiates sensations and desires and feelings to me, somehow, and how much I wanted him when I was ovulating, all of these things which will happen again next time I ovulate a month from now if I am regular – having lust for someone, but knowing we are doomed – what is going to happen? I cannot see it.
There are a lot of reasons.
I have written since I was a teenager. I had no computer, so I wrote in spiral bound notebooks, and I filled up one after another over the years. As a teenager I wrote some fiction stories and some diaries. I also drew cartoons, and back then, I drew aquarelle crayon paintings, where you draw with the crayon first and then paint water over it to make it look like a watercolor that has more texture.
I write because I enjoy using my brain a certain way, and there are very few activities that are able to trigger this brain state. I love the process of typing on a keyboard. It makes me focus a certain way to move my fingers, while also thinking of the words I’m going to say. However, this is not the same mental process as I would use if I were thinking more deeply about the structure of the writing as a whole, its whole narrative over time, its whole plot and how the plot elements fit together, which is a more difficult mental function for me to use and probably requires intuition. I can use my sensing functions to move my fingers over the keyboard and use my sensing functions to talk about particular topics, such as what happened in the last 24 hours, and also use my ethics function that is valued in the Delta socionics quadra, the ethics of relationships.
I am restless and overcaffeinated much of the time, and have a desire to use my brain but no way to use it. I have no one to talk to. If I had someone to talk to who was able to trigger that flowing brain state during the conversation, then I would spend my time talking to them instead of writing, but I have nobody at all who is able to trigger an extremely deep and flowing brain state while talking to me. If they did, it would be like psychotherapy, where someone would keep asking me what does this mean to me, why do I value this, why do I believe this, what am I trying to accomplish.
So I write, to trigger a flowing brain state for very long periods of time, sometimes hours if I am very overcaffeinated or on other herbal drugs. I also use it as a substitute for movement and work because I am tired. I could be doing productive thinking and productive activities, but am too tired to get out of bed and move around.
Also, the brain zapping from either the electronic weapon attacks or the electromagnetic ‘smog,’ the background noise from all of the cell phones and all of the other radio waves people are using, regardless of whether they are intended to be an attack on me personally or not, all of that noise interferes with my brain and my body and my nerves (and it interferes with everybody, but some people have a worse experience of it than other people do and some people don’t notice much of a problem – I am hypersensitive to this disturbance).
Since I can’t think properly because of these attacks and noise, I’m not able to function very productively. I can’t do useful activities that I otherwise would have been doing if I were free to use my mind and my body. I can’t interact with people in a deep, satisfying way because I can’t focus enough to bond with the person I’m talking to. Bonding deeply with a person requires you to direct all of your attention to that person, to all of their movements and emotions, everything they say, their gestures, and possibly even the
electromagnetic fields generated from their body, because human bodies create their own electromagnetic fields that surround our bodies, and we also create smells and pheromones and vapors out of our skin and our breath that are able to influence others.
I can’t solve my recurring, ongoing life problems because of these attacks and the inability to use my brain. For all practical purposes, I am disabled. I have a genius IQ but am not able to use it at all except for the most mundane routines. I have creative talents and abilities that are all being unused. It’s made even worse by constantly working at a job, constantly being fatigued and
overcaffeinated, and constantly being malnourished. ‘Being
productive’ and ‘working at a job where somebody else takes all the profit’ are not the same thing, so I have always wanted to either start my own business, or look for ways to live independently so that I am losing less of my productivity to others.
And so, I write, to entertain myself in this prison and to ease my suffering. I usually don’t expect anyone to read it and I am very shocked if I discover that anybody actually is reading it. I have a few friends, family, and an ex-boyfriend (still a friend) who I know for sure are reading my blog.
I have many random strangers who find my blog through google searches, and most of them probably just skim through the one page that they found, and then leave again, partly because google won’t even take them to the actual page that has the word or phrase they were looking for, that bastard google, which is why I finally turned on the ‘search this site’ box up at the top. Google will tell you that my blog had a particular word or phrase on it at some time, but when you actually click on that in the google search results, it will take you to, for instance, the main page of the blog, which is an ever-changing page that pushes out old blog posts at the bottom so that they are no longer there, and if the search result was in an older post, it sucks to be you, you’ll click to get here and find nothing.
I hate search engines. I am not a fan of them at all anymore. Their goal is to take you to pages that advertisers will pay for you to go to, and also take you to pages that the disinformation campaign wants you to go to (pages paid for by drug companies, banks, government, and other ‘official’ sources of ‘authorized’ information instead of independent information provided by normal people). The goal of the search engines is NOT to take you directly to the exact piece of information that you desire to find. The very opposite is true. The goal of the search engines is to take you to something that will make a profit for somebody somewhere, regardless of whether you wanted to find that information or not. If they take you AWAY from whatever you wanted to find, they are happy about that if it’s a piece of taboo information that the censors don’t want you to know, a taboo product or service that the censors don’t want you to find, and so on, or if it’s a product that competes against something made by a more powerful company that doesn’t want any competition.
Anyway… my blog…. random people do google searches and find it when they are searching for various search terms, but I am not making a deliberate effort to attract website visitors. I could do a lot more. For instance, I could ‘tag’ every blog with some kind of a topic, but that requires mental effort and usually I don’t feel it’s important enough to do.
Why do I write…. lots of pent-up mental energy and nothing to do with it. I write to see if anybody out there in the world even knows that I exist, and, once again, I am always very shocked and surprised to find out that yes, they do know I exist. I simply can’t believe it when I discover that anybody at all knows that I exist.
So, forgive me for not knowing that people know that I exist, because I’ve been traumatized for a very long time. There was a time in the past when I wrote a blog which was directed at an audience. I actually started out on MySpace. There’s a dead link to it and it doesn’t work anymore, somewhere on this page. I haven’t fixed all the dead links on this page – it all needs cleaned up and that requires tons of free time that I don’t have, and probably could only happen if I were using herbal drugs like St. John’s Wort.
(I talk about these drugs but I don’t recommend them. I only used them out of desperation because of severe fatigue and major problems. They actually cause so many side effects that they can be dangerous and even life-ruining. In the past, I was totally and completely opposed to all drugs including herbal drugs, but was forced against my will to start using them and compromising, which ruined my life. Zero compromise is the true pathway.)
Anyway, I once wrote a blog that was audience-conscious. I knew I had an audience, I knew who they were, I knew they existed, and they knew I existed. It was on MySpace. I knew who was reading it. I said things that weren’t taboo, and I directed them at the audience, knowing that it had to be interesting and worth reading, knowing that I had to edit and censor myself, that I had to limit the length to a length that was tolerable enough for a normal person to read for only a couple minutes without wasting all of their time, and so on. I had an optimistic outlook in that blog because I did not want to project an attitude of despair that other people would have to read.
A series of events occurred, which involved mind control, that resulted in my starting a separate blog where I would just say ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING without censorship and without being conscious of my audience. My audience doesn’t exist, and so, if they suffer because the blog is too long, or because the blog is too whiny and all I do is complain, that’s their problem, not mine, because they aren’t even here reading it. That’s how this blog was originally.
I started to *slightly* censor this blog, mostly from sexual topics, because I accumulated real people who were reading it, and I tend to be somewhat private about sex, somewhat restrained or reserved. Also, I am no longer affected by drugs as much as I was in the past. Drugs make me more sexual. I wrote blog posts that attracted a lot of people because they were searching for sex on the internet and so there are one or two pages that are really popular and actually have some comments on them. (When I say ‘drugs,’ I only mean herbal drugs.)
The blog originally was hidden, without any connection to my name. Then, once again, a series of events occurred that led to me being prompted to do things to link this blog to my name, to remove anonymity, to reveal who I am to everyone who searches for me. So now it is possible to search for my name on the internet and find links to this blog.
I often write because I am hungry, and my life is so unstable that I am often in situations where I can’t eat food easily, or I am eating the wrong kinds of foods and still feel hungry. When that happens, writing goes on for hours and hours and hours.
So, most of those reasons still exist. If I stop writing, I will simply have nothing to do.
I don’t have time to read online anymore, and I’m not using herbal drugs that change my brain state. But in the past, when I had more time to read and was using more drugs, I used to write about more intellectual topics or about economics.
To stop writing random brief blogs at random times, I would just stop carrying the PutaPhone with me at all. If I didn’t have the putaphone there would be none of those kind. But the long ones that I write from home are harder to stop from happening. I can transfer to writing things on paper. But it’s ‘them,’ the voices, that cause me to get urges to talk about particular things in the blog, or to write a blog at all. They often delude me into thinking that I have to explain this or that, otherwise something bad will happen. So, for instance, this evening the voices convinced me that Agustin thought I was being sarcastic when I said he was better than a male stripper, so I’d better write a blog that goes into more detail to make it clear that no, I’m not being sarcastic, I really do love the erotic movements of his body. He didn’t do anything vulgar or gross, but it was this subtle posture that I can’t describe which was brief and fleeting and I saw it out of the corner of my eye. I won’t describe what exactly I was able to see – he wasn’t taking his clothes off or anything. But how am I to prevent the urges to write blog posts whenever the voices are telling me to do it? Can I make an effort to go one week without doing it? It’s caffeine that makes me write a lot more than I otherwise would.
I won’t say exactly what he did, but he moved his entire body into a posture that was explicitly sexual, but I only saw this out of the corner of my eye as I went by and cannot really describe exactly what he did, although I am also just choosing not to describe it in my blog. Seeing this movement, and being near him, excited me for several minutes afterwards. He really did move like a male stripper or dancer.
I feel that my relationship with him is so fragile and vulnerable right now that I’m actually afraid to talk to John when he’s back there in the kitchen. Every time I talk to John I get this feeling afterwards that Agustin is losing hope and feeling left out. This evening when it happened I actually got attacked by voices in my head afterwards telling me that Agustin wants Kat more than he wants me. They kept on insisting that he’s just going to take Kat and he doesn’t need me at all – for the rest of the night that’s what was bombarding me in my head. I don’t like blocking out John or avoiding him either. If I were more strongly bonded with Agustin he would feel secure and would not feel that I was abandoning him by talking to other guys; the same is true for me – I get very, very jealous when he talks to other girls at all. But if we are secure, if we know for sure that we have each other and we are together in a solid, long lasting relationship, with trust, then we can both talk to other people and not get so painfully jealous.
No male stripper can compete against him. His movements are indescribable, unspeakable. What I see is only for writing on paper.
Okay, the word "submissive" is the way that I think of it, but that might be the wrong word if you think of "50 Shades of Grey," a rule-following submissiveness. My version might be called "self-sacrificing" but I don’t like that phrase, probably because Ayn Rand didn’t like it. For example I spent over a hundred dollars to buy groceries for Peter one time, and I drove him everywhere in the car even at my own expense and inconvenience. I give people whatever they want even at great inconvenience to myself, and I "submit" to them in that way, serving someone. It’s more like "The Giving Tree," give everything until you have nothing left and then give even more. But rule-following and the triggering of humiliation and embarrassment isn’t the same thing and that’s what the word submissive usually means. I just don’t have a good word for what I do, and it DOES feel like "submitting" from my perspective. I understand (in the abstract) the usual kind of domination and submission. The rules make people feel safe and free to grow and improve themselves. It triggers emotions that are not easily processed or expressed through my personality type, the SLI.
It’s 10:00 and I haven’t even gotten into the taxi yet. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite this late before. I am having sort of a good hair day because I finally have that Finesse conditioner again, so it only takes a couple seconds to comb the tangles out of my hair. With other conditioners the hair turns all sticky like it’s full of gum and wax and it tangles even more, so it takes a very long time to comb. But I forgot to part my hair in the middle before I braided it so it’s all parted in weird places. Life goes on.
I was going to say something specific, I just forget what it was. Oh well.
Jesse has a new girlfriend, but that has always happened since we first started dating. We have a non-ideal relationship (as in, we are not ‘soulmates for life’ with monogamy) and I allowed it to be an open relationship where he could be with other people if he found them. In the beginning he had to get used to confessing to me and then he learned that I am able to tolerate it without breaking up with him and without getting angry. My response on the phone was, ‘Take good care of him.’ We were on the speakerphone and she was talking to me too, although I couldn’t hear most of it. They were drunk and/or stoned.
With all of my boyfriends (only a few exceptions) I remain friends with them forever. I do not cut people off and I do not refuse to speak to them. The door is always open, even after I’m no longer having sex with someone. That is one reason why so many people pass by the door and say hi to me. I have one former boyfriend, Steve, who comes and talks to me sometimes, and then random strangers and acquaintances (not boyfriends).
I do not know what is going to happen in my future. I do not know who I will be with or what type of love it will be.
The bike tire was flat. I rode in the taxi AGAIN.
I was either ignoring the alarm, or it didn’t beep. My phone sometimes flashes the light on and off without beeping for my alarm, and if it does that, I have to turn the phone off and turn it back on.
‘They’ were wondering about my ability to record personal events in greater detail than I do, because when I talked on the phone to Jesse at work last night, he asked me about the first night we met, which I had written in painstaking detail on paper immediately afterwards and then eventually also wrote to him on paper in a letter while he was in basic training.
On paper letters I can make handcrafted emojis which I am much more willing to use than premade emojis on the computer. My emojis can be complex images of specific events made into a cartoon. They don’t necessarily show emotional expressions, just somebody doing something, like a cartoon of me washing the dishes at work.
I can only record events in great detail if they are emotionally valuable to me. I will not bother to record every detail of a boring thing that I do every day. I brushed my hair, first on the left side, then on the right side, with 1,230 strokes, blah blah blah. I can only do it if I am having a positive emotional reaction to the events that I really want to record, or a humorous reaction – I wrote a diary about a horrible day where everything went wrong, when I was a teenager, and it was funny.
I am going to be so fucking late for work. I don’t even want to get up.
I couldn’t wake up, but the voices woke me up like they usually do. I heard Agustin say ‘vos chaparro’ in a miserable, tired, growly voice like he wasn’t awake yet, and I heard Gerber say ‘puta madre!’ By the way ‘the voices’ don’t actually come from the people who say those things, they come from another group of people who are giving them to me. Gerber and Agustin are not responsible for my hearing their voices this morning. But basically both of those phrases expressed how I felt about getting out of bed this morning – ‘I need help with something’ or ‘What should I do?’ is often what Agustin is asking Carlos, but that wasn’t quite what it meant here, it was more like ‘you’re waking me up.’ ‘Puta madre’ can mean just about any emotion you want it to mean and can be used for anything. At this moment it just meant ‘I am in pain and exhausted and I don’t want to get out of bed and I hate this right now.’
I am ridiculously late. Also I think I am ovulating for real. I need a book where I actually write on paper about my menstrual cycles and other symptoms. A long time ago I wrote everything on paper and observed connections between things that I did, and symptoms I experienced. For instanced I noticed I used to get dandruff if I drank a lot of Coke (although that hasn’t happened anymore).
The o should have an accent mark. I thought of this during the lesson about the -on augmentative ending. I was trying to figure out what was the word ‘werwu,’ and I am not 100% sure of it but I think it’s the egg-related slang, huevo, although I still could try again to look for slang and figure out which words seem to match it the best. Anyway I came across ‘vergon,’ which they said meant ‘cool.’ After finding out that -on was an augmentative, pejorative ending, which makes something bigger and badder than it normally is, I realized, this is probably not just saying ‘cool’ (as in, awesome), but something more like ‘big dick.’ La verga is penis. Verga + on = vergon? Big penis? Awesome penis? Something like that. I don’t know but that’s what it seems like they’re saying. I haven’t heard my coworkers using this word, unless I missed it. I decided that wasn’t ‘werwu.’ I’m pretty sure ‘werwu’ means what I think it means, the ‘egg’ slang, something like, ‘Really? Seriously? Are you kidding?’ Something like that.
There are some words in English that seem to fit with the -on ending, too. Buffoon – a pejorative word, an idiot, a clown. Maroon – that’s usually a color, a dark reddish color, but I have heard it as an alternative to the word ‘moron,’ so both ‘maroon’ and ‘moron’ seem to have a pejorative connotation with an -on ending.
‘Big penis.’ Okay, I don’t know how big anyone’s penis is, but I don’t care. I am not really interested in big penises. The only time I ever had any difficulties with somebody’s penis size, it was understandable – this person was from Ukraine. I don’t have sex with tons and tons of guys. I tend to date one guy for a long time, but have never been in love enough to marry someone. So I briefly was with a coworker from Ukraine. He was doing overnight cleaning at Target. That was the guy who told me he had been kidnapped by the Russian mafia and forced to work as an unpaid slave, although he and his friend had escaped, and that was the reason why they were illegal aliens.
In Ukraine they have really bad food and really bad soil, according to what I was told in my nutrition class in college. They taught us in the nutrition book that people who come from regions where they have starvation, severe malnutrition, or nutrient-poor soils will tend to grow slowly, grow up small, or have other deformities, including a failure to develop normally, and they gave an example of someone from Ukraine (if I recall) who failed to properly develop genitals.
It just so happened that this guy from Ukraine had an unusually small penis, and so I assumed that this was the result of lifelong malnutrition, mineral-depleted soils, and poverty in that country. People’s bodies can’t develop if they don’t have nutrition. The one good thing about his penis was that it was uncircumcised. I am very, very anti-circumcision. I’m not in the mood to complain about circumcision at the moment though. Anyway he sort of helped me or guided me to massage him, basically, and that was what we did together. We weren’t together a whole lot of times and I quit that job after only a few weeks.
Anyway, after that, I sort of know what to expect or what is possible. I know that these things happen. So I am not going to be a judgmental person who makes fun of anyone. I understand what causes it. I have to at least cover this possibility because it is actually a
possibility and I have absolutely no information one way or the other about this topic. It’s something you can’t find out until you get there. Nobody said anything to make me believe that this was the case. I just write whatever the voices in my head tell me to write about, and they told me to write about verga = vergon. Maybe that was because I mentioned ‘virgin,’ and I had noticed that the word ‘virgin’ seems to come from the same root.
Also, the letter V is shaped like either – oh, goodness, I don’t feel like getting into this discussion. I had to watch ‘The Davinci Code’ to learn a little more about this but I already knew some of it. They use V-shaped symbols either pointing up or down to represent the penis and the vulva. V letters seem associated with these words, verga, virgin, vulva, vagina. How come I am the only person on earth who knows the word ‘vulva?’ Is it because my dad is a doctor and my mom is a nurse? The ‘vulva’ is the external part that you see. The ‘vagina’ is the internal hole that leads to the uterus. It doesn’t matter and I don’t make a big deal out of this.
I’ve had a splitting headache, and I think it’s plastic poisoning. I thought it was caffeine withdrawal, but that makes no sense. I’m putting my hot coffee into a used plastic drinking water bottle because I have no other bottles. What I need is a non-plastic, BPA-free, glass or metal (preferably glass) drinking bottle. The coffee is acid, and hot acid is leaching BPA out of the plastic water bottle, I think. I can’t explain why I still have a headache when I’m not really in withdrawal from caffeine, I just stopped drinking bottled coffee and bottled espressos. The only reason I know this could be plastic poisoning is because I also had a horrible splitting headache when I got my plastic dental fillings put in.
I remember events well if I write them down on paper immediately after they happen, as soon as I am free from the situation, and if I try really, really hard to remember every single detail that I can possibly remember, scraping all the way to the bottom of the memories, every last little bit. I did that after I met Jesse. I wrote down every detail of how we met. That was why I remembered it later on. My blog is less detailed. I am able to actually write much, much more detail than this, if I deliberately sit down after an incident and ‘scrape to the bottom,’ what is this word ‘scrape’ that keeps coming up in my brain? Usually an inserted word has some other meaning than what I am giving it in the sentence. I end up trying to fit it into the sentence but it doesn’t work and it sounds random.
I had major problems with hearing voices today for some reason. There were several unusual incidents where someone was talking in a noisy room and I heard voices in my head and thought the person said something completely different from what they were saying. That’s very abnormal for me – I never have that problem. I have new attackers, or else I am sicker than usual, or the attacks have changed for some reason. I also had one or two incidents where I thought somebody called my name, but nobody did – again, very unusual. Something is wrong or something is changed.
I’m going to go to sleep – I absolutely have to sleep now.
Why did I think of this just now?
I can’t show fake emotions. It bothers me to pretend I’m having a great time when actually I’m in pain or discomfort, or feeling revulsion, anger, or dislike towards someone. Surely my sincere feelings must be obvious to everyone, and they must be hurt by them or respond negatively? How is it possible to have sex with someone you dislike? I am able to behave submissively by nature without feeling too fake. I’m not extremely submissive, though, just mildly. Mostly I am just a gentle, giving person. I don’t think I could even pretend to rape someone although I have never tried. I think I might laugh, ruining it all.
I took an ice cold nap directly on the floor of the bathroom for about twenty minutes. When i got up I was chilled to the bone. I walked into the kitchen and thought, Ahh, it feels great in here. Same kitchen where I am now soaked head to toe in sweat and water vapor from the dish sprayer.