Posts Tagged ‘relationships’

Male INFj (EII) type – my socionics activity relationship

February 27, 2011

11:34 AM 2/27/11

6-28-11 Well, yet another person has google searched for ‘male INFJ’ and read this post today.  I’ve decided this is probably my Worst Post Ever, yet one of the most frequently read.  Perhaps I should rewrite an entirely new post from scratch, after having searched for and found and interacted with some real-world examples of INFJ men.  I’m sorry, but this post is just so bad it’s hardly even worth reading.

*****6/21/11 Disclaimer:  I’m editing this post.  It’s one of my most frequently viewed posts, and a lot of people are finding it by google searching for “male INFJ” and things like that.  Unfortunately, when I read this post several months after having written it, I see that a lot of the stuff in it is wrong (or, I’ve changed my mind about it), and that’s a shame because a lot of people are reading this and probably taking it seriously, as though I have authority.  In fact, I would describe this as one of my ‘worst posts ever’ in terms of information qualtity!  I am ashamed of this post, yet hundreds of people are finding it and reading it. So, take this post as being something that I wrote while still learning about socionics, during a time when I was learning new things and changing my beliefs about a lot of things that I had known for a long time.  I’ve known about personality types since the early 1990s, but I’ve only recently been learning a lot more about them, and I no longer believe a lot of things I used to believe.*****

Now that I am paying attention to socionics relations, I am looking for male INFjs, or EIIs (Ethical Intuitive Intratims) and noticing how I feel with them. I have several examples that I suspect are EII. (I am trying to teach myself to use the socionics initials as well as the MBTI initials.)

Author Warren Farrell, who writes about masculism

Steve Godfrey, the ‘reluctant medium’ who I heard on a radio show last night. He was talking about soulmates.  (*Edit:  He might be an IEE.  The IEE (ENFP) type and the EII (INFJ) type have a lot in common, but it’s hard to explain why unless I talk about ‘functions.’*)

Author of The Socionist at (*Edit, nope, it turns out he’s an ENFP, or an IEE in socionics. Some of these other people might actually be ENFps too.*)

It’s possible that Weston Price could have been one of these, too. I’m not sure what he was. Or he could have been an ISTp. Whatever Weston Price was, I feel that I strongly relate to him and connect with him too.  (*Edit, no, not likely to have been an INFJ.  What was I smoking when I wrote this post???*)

A new one:  I just watched ‘Super 8,’ the movie, and I think Joe Lamb is probably an EII, and the writer of the movie might be an EII too.  That movie values introverted sensing, which is something that people in the delta quadra value, and EII is in the delta quadra in socionics.  When I say ‘they value introverted sensing,’ I mean, they pay attention to, and have a lot of sympathy for, someone’s health and comfort.  For instance there are lines in the movie such as ‘He’s terrified and hungry and he wants to go home.’  This is being said by people who value someone’s health and comfort, people who view ‘the enemy’ as being not really an enemy, but just another vulnerable creature that has its own needs, something that you can feel sorry for.  (I hope that doesn’t give too much away, if you’re planning to see that movie sometime.)

It’s easiest to find them when they are authors.  (*Edit, apparently not, since I’m still having trouble thinking of examples of them from books I’ve read!  I seem to recall that somebody somewhere said that Steven King was an INFJ, but I could be remembering wrong.  Now that I think about it, I also recall reading that he was an INFP.*)

I think I interacted several times with a male INFj on the typology central forum, and we had the ‘so much to say that we can’t say it all’ problem, and a sort of exhausted overloaded feeling. That’s the activity relationship. I’m just guessing he was an INFj based on my interactions with him.

My best friend in college, Valencia, might have been an INFj. She sometimes typed as that, and sometimes as an ENFj. We were very good friends, spent a huge amount of time together, and laughed endlessly, so she was probably my activator, and not my blood feud mortal enemy the ENFj. (*Edit… One of my old classmates in school, I have figured out, is probably an ENFJ.  She wasn’t a ‘mortal enemy’ in any way.  She was just somebody who I had a hard time understanding.  If we talked to each other, it was hard for us to think of anything to say.  The conversation didn’t flow easily – it was a strain.  I’m learning more about socionic intertype relations, and it isn’t as straightforward as ‘this person is your enemy.’*)

(I don’t really know if they would actually be my enemy or not. I haven’t interacted with lots of ENFjs, or read things they’ve written, to find out. Ayn Rand’s character was typed as an ESTp on one of the socionics sites that I visited, but she could have been an ISTp. (I looked at this a few more times and I think they might be right – she could be an ESTp. It’s interesting that her books appeal to a lot of ISTps.) (*Note: Some socionists type her as LSI, or ISTJ.*) Everyone else types her as an intuitive. Anyway, the point is that somewhere else, I saw Ellsworth Toohey, the really bad character in Ayn Rand’s book The Fountainhead, typed as an ENFj, so that might suggest Rand was an ISTp and she was aware of who her enemy was (and I could be totally, totally wrong about all of this, too). Also, I saw Draco Malfoy typed somewhere as an ENFj. These are books that appeal to ISTps (note, I shouldn’t even say that – they actually appeal to lots of different people). ‘The Enemy’ in those books is often the ENFj, if they are typed correctly. The Beta Quadrant is the ‘Slytherin’ quadrant from the point of view of a Delta quadrant member, if we see ourselves as Griffindor.)  (*Edit… When I said that ‘almost everything in this post is wrong,’ I meant it!  You can’t connect the four houses of Hogwarts to the four quadras of socionics.  It just doesn’t work.  They don’t match.  Don’t do it.  The end!*)

What happens when I read or hear these people, the INFj (EII) is that I react with a strong desire to ‘tell them something’ or ‘give them an important message.’ I know something important that I think they would want to know about. I feel that I have a thousand things to say and I can’t say them all at once. This should be an ‘activator’ or ‘activity’ relationship, if I have corrected typed them.  (*Edit… This might have turned out to be happening when I was talking to ENFPs, not INFJs.*)

The dual of an EII (INFj) is the LSE (ESTj). This would be a woman who is a boss or manager or CEO of a company, or someone who wants to be that, but feels frustrated by women’s lower status in society, someone who tends to be a feminist and has a hard time finding men who get along with her. But I haven’t yet learned how to distinguish between a type and its lookalike – I can confuse an ESTj with an ENTj. I’d have to interact more with them to learn how to recognize the feel of them.  (*Argh… No, they’re not ‘bossy’ in that way.  Extraverted sensing, or Se, is not the same as Te, extraverted logic.  An ESTJ doesn’t ‘push people around’ in the same way that an ESTP does.  I was totally having a hard time telling the difference between various ST personality types, but I’m getting better at it now.  I think that all of the female coworkers of mine are actually SLE (ESTP), not ESTJ as I originally thought they were!*)

I think I know of two possible ESTj females where I work. Maybe three of them. They tend to boss other people around, but they also get disrespected because they are inferior – they have the ‘I’m bossing you around but you’re not listening to me because I’m a woman’ phenomenon. I get along relatively well with them and I can see their feelings easily. They are my ‘mirror’ relation.  (*It turns out they were ESTPs, and I can understand them because they are similar to myself in a lot of ways, as I am an ISTP.*)

Male INFjs are relatively rare. But then again, everything that I like is relatively rare! (*This is one statement that I still agree with.  I don’t find many intuitives at all, but it’s mostly because I work at McDonald’s, and all the intuitives are working at other jobs that let them use their strengths.  McDonald’s is a very physical environment, and most (not all) of the employees there are sensors.  So I am surrounded by sensors all day long and I rarely see intuitives, but they might be plentiful elsewhere.  So they might be rare for real, or else they might just be located someplace other than where I am.*)


Story of the child molester. I’m leaving a bad ending on this blog today.

December 12, 2010

8:22 AM 12/12/10

When I visited West Virginia, I was looking at the bookshelves, not my books, but my parents’ books and everybody’s books. There are random things in there, some of them from John, some from me, some from my parents.

I saw ‘Being and Nothingness’ on the shelf. When I saw it, I felt sickness, disgust, loathing, hatred, and contempt. The person who gave me that book was named George. He used to visit my father a long time ago. Originally, he lived close to us when we were in Greensburg PA. He was a member of the scuba diving club. He stayed friends with my father and continued to visit us every once in a while after we moved to West Virginia. My parents kept scuba diving for a while after we moved, but not for long.

I was around 9 or 10 years old, I think, or 11. Not yet a teenager. One time when George came to visit, he was picking me up and carrying me on his hip, even just to walk from room to room in the house. I let him do this because I didn’t know how to say ‘no.’ I just did whatever I was told to do by an adult. George wanted to spend a lot of time talking to me and carrying me around. He wanted to carry me all the time. I became annoyed with this, but I let him do it because I didn’t know how to tell him to stop. It must have surprised my parents too because they didn’t tell him to stop either.

George always wanted a hug, every time I saw him. If I was walking up the stairs while he was walking down the stairs, he would want me to give him a hug. If I met him anywhere in the house, he would want me to give him a hug. He didn’t visit very often, and he only just started doing this, and nobody knew what to do about it.

He must have decided everything was okay, because one day in the kitchen, he grabbed my breasts while he stood behind me and lifted me up onto the counter. He wanted me to sit on the counter and spread my legs while he stood against the counter in front of me. Again, I didn’t understand any of this, but as soon as he grabbed my breasts, I was sick, and I knew that he shouldn’t do that. That was the moment when I figured out for sure that he was molesting me. Up till then I hadn’t realized I was being molested. I just felt that this was very annoying and I was starting to get sick of it.

There are people out there who would hear this story, and they would wish that they could have been standing there beside me with a gun at the moment when this happened. I know how that feels.

After he set me on the counter, I said, ‘Don’t ever do that again.’ I said it in a non-threatening way, with a cutesy little voice and a cutesy little smile. He said, ‘Okay, I won’t,’ in the same cutesy little voice.

After that, I told my mom what happened. She told me to avoid him whenever I saw that he was nearby, to just stay out of his way from then on. So I tried to do that. I did actually start saying ‘no’ to giving him a hug every time he saw me. He didn’t visit us many more times, just a few more times after that. It’s a long drive from Greensburg to the house in West Virginia. Not only that, but I don’t know where he moved to. He was always changing jobs and moving from place to place. (There’s probably a reason for that!)

It was after that that I picked up the book ‘When I Say No I Feel Guilty.’ I think I was 13 or 14 when I read it. It was on that same bookshelf upstairs that I was looking at now on my visit back to WV. I read the book. I started using the skills. They actually worked.

However, I started using it at school, too, and it made me less popular. I used to be popular because I was submissive and I had no dignity. As soon as I tried to have dignity and self-respect, as soon as I took myself seriously, nobody liked me anymore. I saw things differently after reading that book. I was able to see when people were pushing me to do things I didn’t want to do. I was able to say no to them. I was able to see when people were making me inferior. Nobody liked me after I started telling the truth.

I had a couple of close friends who stayed with me all the time. But the ‘general’ friends, the casual friends, the people who weren’t really close, most of them disappeared. I remember seeing the shocked, hurt look on one person’s face whenever I stood up to him when he was treating me as inferior. I remember that he almost never spoke to me again after that. I don’t remember who it was. It was just one of the casual friends. No, I wasn’t happy about seeing a shocked look on people’s faces. It didn’t make me feel good at all.

The book didn’t ‘convince’ me that I was being manipulated by people. It was something that I had always known and felt, but had no words to express. It gave me the words and the ideas to express what was going on. But the people around me weren’t reading that book. They didn’t know how to respond back to me. And that book isn’t the end of it. There are a million more things to know about how to treat people with respect, and how to communicate. The people around me would have needed help to express themselves, too. Nobody ever taught THEM how to talk to ME.

Later on, my brother found ‘The Fountainhead’ in a list of books about individualism. You could write an essay about any of the books in that list, and he chose that one. So he showed it to me, and I eventually read it, and we also read Atlas Shrugged.

When George found out that my brother and I were reading Ayn Rand, he gave me ‘Being and Nothingness’ to help me fight back against the brainwashing. That book was supposed to convince me that Ayn Rand was wrong. I glanced briefly through it and saw that it was meaningless and useless to me, and I put it on the shelf and never looked at it again. It’s still there. I felt that sick loathing and contempt when I saw it.

It’s true, Ayn Rand had a cult of people who were brainwashed to act a certain way, to fit in with the cult, to never be ‘irrational’ or do anything that Ayn Rand didn’t like. Nathaniel Branden wrote about what it was like to be part of that cult, and he wrote about how he broke out of it. He wrote critiques of Ayn Rand’s books later on and explained how the books made people feel that everything they did was wrong and it actually stopped them from being themselves because they were constantly worried about doing anything that Ayn Rand wouldn’t like. I agree with all that. We experienced the same thing. My brother went through a hardcore Objectivist phase where he judged me for everything I did and said, but later on, he gradually changed his mind and mellowed out about Objectivism, and so did I. But ‘Being and Nothingness’ wasn’t what ‘rescued’ me from hardcore judgmental Objectivism.

George is an old man now. I haven’t seen him in, like, decades. I still feel that same sick hatred and contempt, after all these years. He’s going to die someday, and I will still loathe him till the day he dies. It’s kind of sad. I would want to forgive him if I could, but I can’t make myself not feel sick at the thought of him.

George is the reason why I am careful not to touch anyone if it could make them uncomfortable. It’s the reason why I was always so cautious with Curtis even when it sometimes seemed like he was openly flirting with me. I never, ever wanted to violate him or disgust him the way that someone else had done to me. It’s the reason why I would have instantly given up on him and left him alone, instead of ever, EVER trying to actually start up a relationship with him. I always assume that he is disgusted with me, that he feels that same sick feeling of being molested and violated, that I am ugly and unattractive and loathesome to him. It’s the reason why I would have done NOTHING AT ALL with him, except that the murderers controlled me and forced me to initiate a relationship with him outside work. And I STILL believe that he loathes me, even though I remember the times when he seemed to be attracted to me or flirt with me. (This would not be such a problem, except that I also have unconventional grooming practices that don’t conform to the standards of female beauty – I don’t shave, I don’t remove my mustache, and nowadays, I also am growing natural dreadlocks, which many people think are disgusting, since I’m using the no shampoo method of growing locks, instead of growing fake, manicured, high-maintenance dreadlocks. I don’t feel as afraid of being rejected whenever I’m conforming to the mainstream grooming standards. But I am not going to change my practices because of that. This is part of my personal belief system now.)

I tried, and tried, and tried, to get Curtis to officially say ‘no’ to me, to make boundaries, to tell me to stop, and I also tried to tell his girlfriend to do that, too. But neither of them would do it. Neither of them would have a conversation with me about this. I told BOTH of them, more than once, that I ‘hear voices’ and I do things that they tell me to do, and apparently, they’re not that worried about it. His girlfriend still writes letters to me occasionally and she is still friendly to me, but she doesn’t understand why I was so desperately trying to get him to say ‘no’ to me and forbid me to see him. He is too nice and too gentle to say ‘no’ to me and make a strong boundary telling me not to touch him. So one of these days, I’m going to get the idea that since he didn’t say ‘no,’ after I begged him and begged him to say ‘no,’ I’ll get the idea that it’s okay to do it, and I’ll try something stupid, and he’ll push me away and hurt me very, very badly.

And none of this would be happening except that ‘they’ are still forcing me to have false hopes about him and to keep trying to stay connected with him instead of just grieving, getting over it, and letting him go, which is what I would have done on my own in the real world. Not only that, but they’re also giving me a fake ‘loyalty’ to him, so that I get attacked whenever I try to go looking for other men to go out with instead of him, and if I try, they tell me that he’s hacking my computer and he knows that I’m looking at other guys and he’s jealous about it, so they make me feel like I have to be loyal to him and not cheat on him. Curtis isn’t hacking my computer. THE MURDERERS are hacking my computer, and THEY are jealous about who I’m dating, not Curtis. Curtis doesn’t know what I’m doing, he doesn’t think much about me, and he isn’t hacking my computer, and he doesn’t care if I go out with other guys. He barely even remembers that I exist unless I’m bugging him. Out of sight, out of mind.

(I inserted a bunch of paragraphs while rereading this. This is back on the subject of parents and children.) If you teach your children how to say ‘no,’ then they will also sometimes have to say ‘no’ to YOU, the parent. You have to decide where the boundaries are. On which issues will your command override your children’s ‘no?’ Sometimes, there are dangers that they don’t know about, and when you’re protecting them against those things, you’ll want to command them even if they don’t want to obey you. There might be ways of communicating more clearly and more respectfully, but you will still have to set a boundary on some things.

However, on a lot of issues, parents are extremely disrespectful towards their children, even when it isn’t a very important or dangerous thing, even if it’s some trivial everyday thing, and it isn’t necessary to force them to obey you about those minor things. Like, which shirt are you going to wear today. Parents and children can get into big fights about something that trivial. I’ve seen them, other people, having fights and being horrible towards their children over stupid things like that. They act like it’s a life-or-death decision if you wear that pale pink shirt that makes your skin look sallow, or whatever. You could tell your kids your opinion on something like that, without actually commanding them or forcing them to wear what you tell them to wear. There are ways to communicate opinions without constantly nagging people or disrespecting them or forcing them, and after a while, after you’ve said it a thousand times, it’s better not to say anything at all.

A lot of this wouldn’t be a problem if we didn’t have child labor laws. Children aren’t allowed to earn money, and they can’t leave home until they’re eighteen years old. I think they can sometimes leave at age 16, but I forget how that works. Some kids would have wanted to leave home many, many years before that. They become teenagers, they start standing up for themselves, and if they could just move out, they wouldn’t have to fight against their parents over every little thing.

They woke me up this morning after a dream about ‘girl toys.’ That came from McDonald’s, where I’m asking customers about whether they want a girl toy or boy toy with their Happy Meal. Yesterday, I heard myself saying ‘boy toy or girl toy’ and I was conscious of it, because I had just been reading in the crew book that we’re not supposed to say that. In the beginning it was hard for me to say ‘boy or girl toy’, because I was thinking ‘boy toy,’ as in, a guy that you are casually dating, a non-serious relationship, with a young guy. I’ve gotten used to saying it now. It has fewer syllables. But actually, we’re not supposed to say ‘girl’ or ‘boy,’ we’re supposed to tell the customer what the toy is (right now, it’s a Transformers toy or a Hello Kitty wristwatch), because somebody complained that tomboy girls might want to get the boy toys (I know, I would’ve wanted them too, the girl toys are usually pathetic, but I always liked action figures when I was a kid). So it’s embarrassing to ask for a boy toy to give to your girl. (The boys don’t usually ask for girl toys, but it could conceivably happen.)

In the dream I was playing with the toys, and they were like the toy collection I had when I was a little kid, like the My Little Pony toys. They had all these tiny little accessories, little pieces that were easy to lose.

But I was a perfectionist (with my toys in the real world, not the dream), and I never lost any of the pieces – until I took the toys over to my friend’s house, and we played with them for a few hours, and I went home and found that things were missing, and she was too stupid and careless and apathetic to recognize that there were pieces of toys that didn’t belong to her, even though I TOLD her that I had lost some of the pieces in her bedroom, and I described what they looked like, and I asked her to please give them back to me when she found them – sorry, I still haven’t gotten over it.

The only explanation I have for this is that she didn’t care about her own toys at all, and she didn’t even remember which parts of toys and which accessories were hers, because ALL of her toys were junk to her and she wasn’t interested in them. I have an analogy to this. I’ve been buying Goodwill clothes, and sometimes throwing them away when they get contaminated (chemical sensitivity), so I’m not attached to my clothing anymore. In the past, I would have strongly recognized which clothes were mine and which were someone else’s. But when I visited West Virginia, my mom offered to do the laundry, and she was going to mix up all of my clothing into the batch with hers. I warned her not to do it, because I said I wouldn’t recognize which ones were mine afterwards, and I wouldn’t be able to pick them out of the mix. That’s because all of my clothes are new, they are ‘disposable,’ I’m not attached to them, they’re non-unique, and I’ve deliberately avoided ‘bonding’ with my clothing or falling in love with it or making it part of my special clothing style or image. (Yes, I did used to have special, unique clothing styles in the past.)

So if my old friend felt that way about her toys, if all her toys were junk, then she couldn’t recognize, or care, which little tiny toy parts were hers and which ones were someone else’s, because she never played with toys and didn’t care about any of them at all. I didn’t understand that back then. I couldn’t imagine that somebody’s parents would buy tons and tons of unwanted toys that they forced on their children (especially at Christmas) because they felt that it was necessary to buy lots of expensive toys for their kids, when their kids hate playing with toys and will just trash them all over the room, break them, and lose them, and forget about them. Most kids I’ve seen don’t care about their toys at all. They would be just the same if nobody ever bought them any toys. They’d be better off. They DON’T WANT their toys! This is one of the reasons why I officially stopped celebrating Christmas.

Well, in this dream, it was a symbolic dream, and I am disgusted by people who use ‘symbols’ to communicate, but, the ‘girl toys’ had ‘shoes’ that were ‘in the closet.’ Years ago, I heard the word ‘pedophile,’ and I thought that it meant a foot fetishist, because ‘ped’ is the root of words like ‘pedestrian,’ a walker, a person on foot. It’s also ‘pod,’ in the Latin names of animals and their body parts. So I knew ‘ped’ and ‘pod’ from biology, so I thought that a pedophile was a foot fetishist. (That’s before I was using the internet.)

So my understanding of this dream, which was written by a loathesome person, is that the ‘girl toy’ is ME, and my ‘tiny little shoe toys’ are ‘in the closet,’ meaning, my own pedophilia is still a secret.

Why would people write dreams that disgust you, for the purpose of making you hate them? Why would they do this same thing over and over again, and never learn, and never understand, that their behavior is disgusting and it causes you to hate them? Apparently, they DO know that it’s disgusting, because they never reveal themselves to their victims. And I’m not the only one experiencing this – it’s the same with all the victims who are writing on the internet. Their attackers are disgusting, loathesome people who do the same disgusting things, the same stupid, loathesome, pathetic, contemptible, repetitive things, every single day, forever, without getting caught.

Will electronic mind control ever be accepted as ‘common knowledge’ in our society? How many centuries are we willing to wait for that to happen? How long until the police officers admit that this is real? How long until they become willing to investigate these attacks, to go to your house and put up detectors and tracking devices that will figure out which direction the attacks are coming from? How long until they get a reliable method of detecting attacks at the moment when they happen, and arresting the people who are doing them, and destroying the systems that they’re using?

THAT will never happen. They’re probably not using ‘their own’ systems. They’re probably hacking into other people’s systems. The systems they’re hacking into are used for legitimate purposes at the same time. They’re probably hacking into things like radio station towers and cell phone towers, I’m guessing, and making them emit frequencies and carry information that the owners wouldn’t have wanted them to do. Isn’t it wonderful to have all of our computers connected to an always-on insecure internet connection 24 hours a day? And isn’t it wonderful to have those computers open and exposed to electronic weapon attacks that control them even when they’re not connected to the internet? (The answer is No. I’m being sarcastic.) I’m tired of our society’s ignorance that never ends. It just goes on and on and on and never stops. People never stop being ignorant.

I would end this blog in a better way than that. But I don’t know how.

I’m going to try to get up and do something now. Today is Sunday. I’m off work tomorrow, which is when the Weekend Warrior mode kicks in. Everything that I have to do to rescue myself, to redeem my life, to make it possible for me to get married and have children, that all has to be done in the two days that I’m off work. After those two days are over, I go back to being a government slave, to earn my income, and a very big chunk of that income will be taxed out of my paycheck, to pay the government to send slaves to other countries to kill the slaves in those countries. The little bit of money left over out of my paycheck will be used to pay the rent, and the landlady will use those rent payments to pay the extremely high property tax on these apartments, and that property tax will be used to pay the slaves to go to foreign countries where they will kill other slaves. Am I seeing a pattern here?

I’d like to live in a small cottage on land that nobody owns, where I don’t make a rent payment or a property tax payment. The cottage would be made of natural materials. Nothing toxic or moldy. It would be very small. I don’t need much. Or I could live in an RV. Buying a trailer is too expensive – I looked into that. It’s like $80,000 to buy a trailer and have it installed on a lot. That’s more than a HOUSE used to cost. There’s no such thing as ‘trailer trash’ anymore. Trailers are for rich people. Poor people live in apartments. It’s ‘apartment trash’ now.

This blog still doesn’t have a good ending.

Little by little I get done the things I need to do to recover from my disasters and make progress in my life. I don’t know how long it will take, but I am trying. That is all I can do. I am being constantly attacked by people who want me to fail at everything I try. It’s like Neo fighting Agent Smith and his millions of Smith viruses. After a few more decades of trying to fight them, and trying, and trying, and trying, eventually I will give up and die.

There’s a song of despair that I heard once, on public radio, on one of the folk music shows. I only recorded the very end of the song, so I only remember a few lines from it.

‘Life is a trial and love is a trouble, beauty will fade, and riches will flee, pleasures they dwindle and prices they double, and nothing is as I would wish it to be… Last night in my dreams I was stationed forever, on a far distant isle in the midst of the sea. My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor, to sweep off the waves as they swept over me. Alas, ’twas no dream, ahead I behold it, I see I am helpless my fate to avert. She lay down her broom, her apron she folded, she lay down and died and was buried in dirt.’ The Housewife’s Lament. People loved, and hated, that song so much that on the internet, they’ve added extra verses by new people, to try to fix it, to make it hopeful, to fight back.

Maybe I will just leave it with a bad ending today. Sometimes I can’t fix it.

anarchism, second job, visiting curtis, resting on thanksgiving day

November 25, 2010

3:27 PM 11/25/10

I am home from work because it’s Thanksgiving, but I am not going anywhere to eat dinner. I’m invited to go with my aunts and cousins, and also Peter and Tammy invited me, but I’m going to just stay home and rest. Rest is what I want more than anything else. Trying to have fun on a holiday isn’t usually much fun for me. Sometime in the future, it might be, but right now no.

The air is fresh and sweet outside today. I went out to get some bottled water out of my car and the sweetness of the air surprised me. It was cold and silent and full of rainfall. It often feels that way on holidays. I think maybe there aren’t as many cars driving on holidays, and that’s why the air is sweet.

I saw Curtis yesterday. I went looking for him, when I was finally able to get up and out of bed. I didn’t see him in the store, so I bought a couple of small things and left. As I was walking towards the door, he came out of a small room nearby and looked right at me. So we walked outside together and sat on the bench where he had a cigarette. He said he was off work and waiting for his ride to pick him up.

I didn’t have a panic attack, and I didn’t start crying either. I was only a little nervous at first. I hope that I can get used to visiting him. It was something that I did on purpose, as a duty, an obligation.

I sat, like, three feet away from him on the bench, leaving him plenty of space. I didn’t touch him at all. We talked for a few minutes about Christmas and some other things and then he finished his cigarette. I let him go back inside, and I said goodbye and went to my car.

I am glad I got to see him. And he mentioned again that I hadn’t written much on facebook. It’s true, I didn’t bombard him with letters, because I was trying to take it easy after he and I had a couple days of big, long letters back and forth to each other, and I thought, he can’t possibly like this, and I thought that I talk too much. But no, he wanted me to write to him again. I thought I had to give him a break for a couple of days, and I didn’t want to push my luck. So after I got home I sent him another letter and I showed him two photos where he and his son Caden were in the same position and making the same face and they looked exactly alike. He even has Curtis’s ears. They are the same shape and they stick out at exactly the same angle. I love his ears, so this is a good thing. He has both ears double pierced and I always stare at them when we’re talking.

As of right now, it’s my official duty to try to see him once every other week. If I could, I’d see him like three times a week or something, and I would be all over him hugging and kissing and snuggling, but instead I am going to give him a lot of space and try to act like an ordinary friend instead of the ‘friend who adores you and wants to have sex with you even though you have a girlfriend and you guys are getting married sometime.’ So I have to be an ordinary friend. I’m not even touching him yet, not even a little bit. I’m not sure when I will feel comfortable enough to do that. But like I said, I didn’t cry or have a panic attack, so I am feeling a little more trusting and comfortable now.

In case you are a new reader who doesn’t know what’s going on, Curtis and I used to work together, but he lost his job, and I wanted to keep visiting him at his new job, and I was devastated that I couldn’t see him at work anymore. So every time I went looking for him, I was crying and upset because I missed him and he was gone from my life. That’s making a long story short. It took a while before I could actually FIND him at his new job, and I spent a few weeks sending letters to him begging him to tell me to quit stalking him, because I was scared that he didn’t want to see me and that sooner or later he would have me arrested for stalking. But actually he wants to see me, or at least, he is able to tolerate it.

‘They’ think that the reason the Harry Potter and Hermione dance scene affected me so strongly was because I myself am in a position of being attracted to someone who is loyal to his real girlfriend. Every time I saw that scene in the movie, the voice whispered the word ‘letdown’ after it was over, and now they said ‘letdown’ after I walked away from Curtis without touching him. I checked the book when I was at Barnes & Noble. It wasn’t in the book. It was added to the movie. The scene does resemble how he and I are together: we’ve been friends for a long time, I’ve always been attracted to him, and we’ve enjoyed being together, and we have had fun together, but he is loyal to his girlfriend and he probably would stop me if I tried to do anything that went beyond being friendly. I don’t know. He always tolerated it when I touched him, but I was doing things like patting him on the back. And he wasn’t always with his girlfriend during the time when we worked together, and he was more open to me when he wasn’t dating anybody.

Anyway, I saw him, and I plan to see him again.

Another good thing: I am going to try again to get a second job. My bank account has been quickly draining down, which always happens when I have only one job. My rent is too high, and I need a roommate, but I can’t have one unless I clean up the drug residue on the carpet, and I’ve already talked about that too much in my blog. I need to get that fixed. But I want to have a secure income first before I do anything else. I had tons of money when I was working at Weis and McDonald’s, and then I quit Weis and I quickly used up the money I had. I’m ready to fill out job applications again, and so, yesterday, I picked up a couple when I was in town, when I went to visit Curtis.

I feel like everybody already knows this, but, I am an anarchist, and before I called myself an anarchist, I started out as a Libertarian and Objectivist, after reading the books of Ayn Rand. I decided to go all the way to ‘anarchist’ after I learned that the hackers are controlling the computers where they record the numbers of our votes. It isn’t the electronic voting machines that we have to worry about, although there are some problems with those too. But they are a red herring, a distraction from the real problem. The real problem is that our votes get counted, and then the numbers get sent to an ordinary, insecure, internet-connected computer with a plain old Excel spreadsheet on it, and then, the hackers change the numbers in the cells on the spreadsheet. It’s so easy to do, a script kiddie could do it. You don’t even have to be an expert hacker. You don’t have to do anything that requires a lot of knowledge or expertise. So our votes don’t matter at all. It’s all fake. So I am an anarchist, because our votes have no connection to the results of the election.

After the election of George Bush Jr., there was an article written called ‘Evidence Mounts that the Vote Was Hacked.’ Or it might have been called ‘Evidence Mounts that the Vote Has Been Hacked.’ It’s on the internet. It’s the only article that I ever saw that was written about this, but I knew it was the truth. I had been getting harassed by computer hackers since about the year 2000, so I already knew that they were everywhere. Reading that article was the last straw. I decided that voting was completely and totally hopeless. At first I had thought that voting was just difficult, but not impossible. I thought that there might be SOME hope of changing the government by voting. But now I don’t think so anymore. The entire voting system is completely and totally corrupt and fake, and there is no connection at all between our votes and who gets elected – NONE.

Oh… why was I talking about anarchism? Because I was going to say, I hate the labor laws. I shouldn’t have to get a second job if I want to work more than forty hours a week. But employers can’t afford to pay overtime pay. If you work more than 40 hours, then they have to pay you 1.5 times your usual wage for every hour over 40. So if I work 50 hours, then 10 of those hours are overtime. If I usually made $5 an hour, then I would be making $7.50 an hour during those 10 hours of overtime. Instead of doing that, businesses always just hire extra people, and they make sure that nobody ever works more than 40 hours a week. The end.

So nobody can make enough money. There is an upper limit on how much money you are allowed to make in one week. If you are only allowed to work 40 hours, and you make $5 an hour, then $200 is the maximum amount of money that you are allowed to make in one week. This law is insanely stupid and it needs to be repealed. But the best we can hope for is that maybe, someday, the government will allow you to voluntarily opt out of the law – that you might be allowed to say to your employer, ‘I don’t want to get paid overtime pay. I want to work at my normal wage even if I’m working 50 hours a week.’ Then, of course, all of the other ignorant people will get mad at you, because they believe they’re ENTITLED to get overtime pay, and they believe it’s bad and evil and wrong to NOT get paid overtime pay, and they’ll be jealous of you and they’ll say they wish they could do that too, but at the same time they don’t think it’s right. So you’ll have conflicts with your co-workers if you have any co-workers who are brainwashed more than most people. (Usually, when I talk about this, some of the people kind of agree with me, but there’s always some brainwashed person who insists that overtime pay is a good thing, and they’re always mad at the employers when the employers refuse to let them work more than 40 hours a week and get overtime pay.)

The only way to get more than that ‘upper limit’ of money is to get a second job. It’s pointless, inconvenient, harmful, and stupid. This law is the #1 most stupid and most obvious law that I would change immediately if I had the power to change a law. It would make so many people’s lives easier if they could simply keep working extra hours at one job to go above the ‘upper limit’ that they can get if they work 40 hours.

They might think that it’s easy to get a second job. But it’s hard to schedule it. At least one of your jobs has to have flexible scheduling. McDonald’s is well known for having flexible scheduling, and I read in a magazine that McDonald’s was listed as one of the top ten best places to work, partly because of their flexible schedules, and I agree with that – I like this job for a lot of reasons, and I like it a lot more than other places I’ve worked, and I can work whatever hours I need to work, at whatever time I want. When you get two jobs, at least one of them needs to let you start work after your other job ends. And you have to be able to limit your availability at both jobs. You have to work in the morning at one, and the evening at the other. Or work overnight at one, and evening at the other. And so on. You can’t have one of your jobs say, ‘Your schedule has to be totally open, and you have to be available anytime we want you to come in.’ If they say that to you, then you’re screwed. It means you can’t get a second job, because you are going to have unpredictable scheduling, and so you’re stuck making that ‘upper limit’ amount of money for only 40 hours a week at your one job, unless they let you work overtime, which is unusual.


There are other laws that the libertarians and anarchists hate, but a lot of those laws affect other people, so we can’t see them directly. But we have direct personal experience with the overtime pay law. I can see it and I can see how it directly affects my life. I can see how much easier and simpler my life would be without that law. This law is visible to millions of ordinary people, and LOTS of those people believe that the law is stupid and harmful.

There are lots of other laws I hate. I hate paying income taxes. I hate fiat money. I hate the banking system. I can’t list all the laws I hate.

There are some laws that I disagree with, but it’s not a big issue for me, although it is for some people. For instance, I don’t think it should be illegal to go outside naked. You shouldn’t get arrested for nudity. However, I really don’t care that much about that law, most of the time. My quality of life isn’t that badly affected by this. I can tolerate this law. But the income taxes, THEY have a big effect on my life. Because of the taxes, I have to work thousands and thousands of extra hours, to pay for *NOTHING*. Or pay for things I don’t want, like, pay the soldiers to go kill people in other countries, which I don’t want them to do. My money is used for that.

This is why I’m interested in intentional communities. I can’t control the government at all because of the vote hackers. The only thing I can do is join with like-minded people to work together and build a new culture.

I don’t usually talk about this subject (anarchism), because so many other authors have already written about it, and they’ve explained it so much better than I can. I’m just agreeing with them.

I called myself a ‘minarchist’ for a couple of years while I still believed in voting. It means that I believed in SMALL government, minimal, as little as possible. But now I am totally disconnected from the government, and I call myself an anarchist, and I only obey them so that I don’t get thrown in jail. (I’m thinking of Curtis, who drove his car without a license, after he lost his license for drunk driving, and he got arrested again and lost his license again for another whole year. Originally it was nine months. So he will have gone 21 months without a license.)

Anyway… I’ll just post this for now.

random stuff – sabrina, caden, movies, hearing voices

November 20, 2010

1:19 PM 11/20/10

saw sabrina
caden was crying
selling mcd hands
the movie: main character. needs to show eight’s saving grace
voices want me to see curtis very soon and more often
hackers wondered about eye deformities
work today, left early

This is a bunch of random stuff.

I was scheduled to go to work early this morning. That was unusual. It turned out that we weren’t busy and they decided to let me go after I finished making the salads and parfaits.

I think it was yesterday or maybe the night before that I saw Curtis’s mother at McD. Drive-thru customers sometimes tell me that they like my voice. I use prosody, I sing my sentences, so they’re pleasant sounding and not a monotone, and not harsh, and not conveying negative emotions. People tell me that I sound calm and soothing instead of gruff and irritable, not like ‘whaddya want?’ So she said the same thing to me. She was being very nice to me.

She also said she appreciated something about how I took the order, that I didn’t interrupt every time she ordered a Happy Meal to ask her if she wanted fries or apple dippers with the meal. Note, there’s actually a good reason why we do this, why we interrupt and ask about the apple dippers. The computer screen is designed in a user-unfriendly way, so that it’s a major hassle if the customer starts to order a Happy Meal and then says, at the very end, ‘Oh, yeah, and I wanted apple dippers instead of fries,’ and yes, they frequently don’t bother to tell you that. And our *NEW* computer system is *SLOWER* than the lean mean green screen system we used to have. So when you push a button, you have a delay time of a couple milliseconds while you wait for the computer to respond, and the customer keeps on talking, and your short-term memory starts forgetting what they asked for. The new system is badly designed in so many ways, I’d have to write a whole separate blog about it. Anyway I just skipped asking about fries/apples because I’ve decided to use the ‘default option’ a lot lately instead of asking. She was ordering Happy Meals really fast, one after another, so I just took the default options. Curtis has a bunch of half-brothers and sisters, and when his mom goes through McD she gets a lot of Happy Meals.

I saw his mother a few weeks before this, too, back when I hadn’t seen Curtis yet. I saw her and I started crying. Also, there was an incident where Kayla drove through with Caden in the back seat, on the driver’s side, and he looked up at me and he waved, even though he doesn’t know me. I think ‘they’ made him wave. It’s not likely that he did that on his own. I cried a little bit when that happened, but I also had the fakeness/puppet suspicious feeling too. (Like the way I felt about the movie Inception, where they manipulate the guy to do something he wouldn’t have otherwise done, and it’s supposed to be a cathartic, emotional moment when he meets his father at the end, but I know in my mind that it’s fake and it serves someone’s purpose. And like how I couldn’t really get into the movie Avatar, not completely, partly because I got stuck watching it in 3-D when I would rather have watched it the normal way, and also, partly because I was asking, ‘But aren’t the avatars alive too? Don’t they have their own minds and their own personalities? They’re not just blank brains waiting to be controlled. They’re living animals.’ Whatever emotions are being expressed, they’re not completely genuine because they are caused by an external controller, and you can’t ignore that fact.)

Then, last night, I was taking an order, and I could hear a young child crying, ‘waaaaaaahhhhahahahh! ahhhaaaaaaaahhh aaaaaahh! aaaaaaaaaaahhahah!’ I mean, he was REALLLLY crying. I could hear him over the headset while she was ordering. I didn’t know who it was… and then they pulled around to the window and it was Caden, Kayla, and her mother. I don’t know why he was crying. Little kids cry when they’re tired, hungry, cold, sick, or whatever. (I know, because I do too. I just don’t do it in public.) It could’ve been anything.

‘They’ are having controversy over the movie that I watched, ‘The Chumscrubber.’ I didn’t mean to make anybody think that this was the ***GREATEST MOVIE EVER*** or that I totally agree with and believe in all of the values and ideas expressed by the movie. But the voices have been bugging me about it, about how the guy… spoiler… does anybody care if it’s a spoiler????… how the one guy dies at the end.

I was reading about moviemaking and about writing fiction. One web page talked about how you can make a story more interesting when you look at it from the point of view of another character, and he did this with the story Little Red Riding Hood, and he developed the character of the Big Bad Wolf.

So the voices were saying that the suspected enneagram eight character, the ‘bad guy’ in the movie, was now the ‘main character.’ They were wishing that he had had a ‘saving grace’ experience, instead of the bad ending that he had. The ‘saving grace’ is something in the enneagram, where each type could possibly become unhealthier and do worse things than they are doing, except that their saving grace makes them realize what will go wrong if they do. I am a self-preservation Four, and I already knew about my own saving grace years ago: whenever my life was going badly, I was able to look into the future and see what would happen if I continued to do what I was doing, about how bad things would get, so I had to take action to change things now before that happened. I don’t remember what word they used to describe this in the book. It might have been something like ‘being honest with yourself, being realistic, instead of fantasizing.’ No more fantasies, no more wishful thinking – what’s going to happen in the REAL world? The saving grace of the Eight is when they realize that if they hurt somebody, then everyone will reject them, and cut them off, and eventually hurt them in return. So they know, don’t hurt people.

So, the eights need to see good role models in movies, of criminal eight characters who turn around when they realize all of the bad things that will happen if they hurt somebody or go too far.

I wrote ‘hackers wondered about eye deformities.’ I was googling stuff about drooping eyes. I know somebody who has drooping lower eyelids, so that you can see the red stuff under the eye, like when you pull them down with your fingers. Her eyes are permanently like that. I wanted to know what’s the name of that condition. She seems to have been born that way, because she showed us baby pictures, and her eyes were like that when she was a young kid. So I heard voices saying that the hackers who spy on my computer were wondering why I was reading about that.

‘selling mcd hands’ – This should be a whole separate blog post, and it should be well written, but I’m not going to make that much effort today.

This week at McDonald’s we are supposed to ask for donations for the Ronald McDonald House Charity. If you donate, then you can sign your name on a little paper with a picture of a helping hand on it, and they stick it up on the wall. You don’t have to sign the paper, though.

So I’m supposed to sell them in drive-thru. And it turns out that actually, I’m really good at it. I’m terrible at suggestive selling for the stuff that makes more profit for McDonald’s, like I’m supposed to suggestive sell apple pies, or french fries, or a drink, or would you like the value meal Large Sized, or whatever. I don’t feel comfortable suggestive selling food for profits. But it doesn’t bother me at all to ask for a donation to the RMHC.

But McDonald’s really, really messed up this time. And I can’t believe that, with all their social skills, they didn’t figure this out. They are undermining themselves when they sell the helping hands. Here’s what they did.

I was told that we are supposed to tell customers that they can get a free apple or pumpkin pie if they donate a dollar. As soon as I tried to do this, I knew right away that it was wrong. I did it a couple times and then gave up on it.

First, I did that at the front counter. Selling the hands is harder at the front counter, because you are there looking at the big, scary customer. I hardly sold any at all at the front counter, and I wasn’t comfortable telling them that they would get a ‘free’ apple or pumpkin pie as a ‘reward’ for donating to charity.

Not only that, but of course, we are losing a small amount of money every time we give them a pie, too. Not a big deal, but still. That’s not as important as the undermining ourselves thing.

I can’t explain how I know this, I just feel it. I felt it when I was trying to talk to the customers and offer them a ‘free’ pie for a charity donation. I feel it in myself, like if I were donating to charity, I wouldn’t like this. I don’t like to donate to an anonymous charity like RMHC, but still, I can understand how it feels to want to donate to charity. (I like the ‘direct action’ kind of donation. You know who’s being helped, you know what their problem is, you know what they are getting, you know where the money went.)

You don’t want to get a material ‘reward’ for donating to charity!!!

Nobody wants to! Not just the ‘selfless’ Christians that Ayn Rand complained about. It isn’t just brainwashing, it isn’t just Christianity, it isn’t just mainstream culture. When you donate something to help somebody, you don’t expect to get a material reward. You have reasons why you donate, and you don’t want to get a ‘free pie’ in exchange for a donation! Getting a reward makes it feel repugnant, gross, contemptible. It’s like they don’t understand you at all. And you want to be understood.

There’s a good feeling that I had when I sold the hands in drive thru. I sold TONS of them, and, again, I’m terrible at selling anything else, but for some reason I really found myself when it came to asking for charity.

When the people drive around to the window, I make eye contact with them. I look them in the eye and smile. I smile a little bit more, and my eye contact is a little bit longer and more direct, than it is with the other customers who don’t donate. They smile back at me. We have a bond. We have cameraderie. We have togetherness. We both know and understand something. They are more likely to make a friendly comment about the weather, or about anything at all, to me, a total stranger. This isn’t just a ‘buying something’ transaction. It’s a shared feeling. When they leave, I say, ‘thank you very much,’ and I make sure they can hear me. I hold them there a second or two longer than usual. And they almost always act this way. A few people will still kind of ignore me and act like they’re in their own little world, but not usually. They usually reach out to my world. Almost always.

Give them a free pie? That has nothing to do with it!

And the other people, when they are asking for the donations, they try to sell the free pie because they were told that’s what they’re supposed to do. The rule says that we are to offer the customers a free pie in exchange for a donation.

It makes it sound like this: It’s like, we were trying really hard to get donations, but we failed. It wasn’t working, nobody would donate… until some genius came up with the idea, ‘Hey! Why don’t we offer them a pie!’ And finally, the donation drive was a success! Nobody would donate until we offered them some extra food! But in reality, this is the opposite of the truth! People WANT to donate. They are HAPPY to give. They LIKE doing it! Don’t assume something cynical about how greedy everyone is, about how nobody wants to give unless they get something *material* in return. They do get something in return. They get a good feeling, and a social bond, but not a piece of food.

And that’s not even getting into the issue of whether people even WANT a pie. The pies really aren’t that good. They’re just cheap junk food. I don’t like them very much. I’m sure a lot of people feel that way. People don’t want to be forced to take a piece of cheap, yucky junk food that they really didn’t want to eat! But if you give a donation, you’re REQUIRED to take a pie. Or it seems like it. Now they’re going to try to push this McDonald’s pie on you whether you want it or not! They’ll be asking you questions, ‘What kind of pie would you like, apple or pumpkin?’ And then they have to say, ‘Umm, well, I really don’t want one at all.’ It’s like saying, ‘Give a donation, and get a free platter of greasy grimy gopher guts!’ (Only a Weston Price dieter would say yes to that. I guess that’s a bad example.) You push them to take something they don’t want… so they’d rather not give a donation! Just don’t even bother with the pies. But the other employees were still following the ‘rule’ and offering them the unwanted pies anyway. People usually said ‘no’ to this, at least while I was listening. But they very often said ‘yes’ when I offered them NOTHING AT ALL. It really was about one out of four customers, at least, and sometimes more than that. It was a high percentage of people who gave me money in exchange for NOTHING. And it was more pleasant that way. Nobody had to say (in a ‘yuck’ tone of voice), ‘I’ll donate a dollar, but I don’t want a pie.’

I twittered about this (SilentSoul74) a couple times and said that the only thing that made me not try to ask them for a donation was if I had trouble hearing them. It’s very embarrassing to say, ‘Would you like to give a dollar to the Ronald McDonald House Charity tonight?’ ‘mumble mumble.’ ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’ ‘mumble mumble.’ I usually gave up and didn’t add on the dollar when this happened. One time, I thought they said ‘yes’ when they actually said ‘no,’ and I had to remove the charity donation when they got to the window. So I only try it with people I can hear.

Well, the charity drive is almost over. I’m not sure if we do it tomorrow or not. They said it lasted a week, and I think it’s been almost a week now. But I’m glad I did it. And I learned something I already knew, which is that people enjoy giving, and they like to feel connected to other people, and they like to help people.

so… hearing voices. ‘They’ were wondering about me going to visit Curtis again. This time I would go with nothing, because I just recently gave him something. I would go empty handed and I would talk to him and listen to him, and I would gather up the courage to touch him again. ‘They’ were noticing that I didn’t go yet and were hoping that I would see him more often.

It has to be a required routine. I need a rule for how often I will go see him, and it has to be a duty that I must perform, whether I want to or not. (It doesn’t matter that I enjoy it, and yes, I do. I still find it hard to go do this, because it’s scary and difficult and it’s hard for me to get out of bed. So that’s why I say ‘whether I want to or not.’ I DO want to.) It’s a duty to perform, because I get terrified out of my mind every time I get close to him. I get overexcited and scared, and sometimes I start crying, but not always. If I’m ‘allowed’ to just not bother going there and being tortured and terrified, then I just won’t bother to go. And it’s a ‘good’ torture, because I can see him now with permission, and he wants to continue being my friend, and he likes the things I gave him. But even though I am feeling more safe now it’s still very difficult.

I’m going to try to see Harry Potter today. Some of the shows will be sold out, but there might be a few left.

the roller coaster ride

November 19, 2010

Oops, that last post was blank, gotta fix that later.

12:35 PM 11/19/10

I was going to post something last night, but I wasn’t able to get online very well at McDonald’s with my iPod, and I was using the WordPress iPod app, and the blog post that I wrote is now stuck in an endless loop and won’t open. I tried to ‘publish’ it, but it wasn’t able to connect to the internet, and at some point, I turned my iPod off to restart it. When I turned it back on, I could no longer click on the post that I had written. It was in the list that said they were published (not a draft anymore), but it didn’t appear on the web and I can’t open it anymore. Fortunately, it wasn’t a very long one.

In that failed post I was talking about how it feels to be interacting with the real Curtis in email and seeing his facebook page again. I’m able to look at all the photos again and I am being tortured, just as I was before. I get painfully jealous when I see other girls talking to him, and I get jealous when I think of him marrying Carrie, even though I know that my relationship with him isn’t a ‘monogamous marriage’ type of relationship. We have something, and I don’t know the word for it, but it’s like being friends, with at least one of the friends being sexually attracted to the other friend, but not necessarily doing anything about it this instant. I’m sure there’s a word for that somewhere. lol.

So I get jealous of any girls he talks to. And he knows this girl who is a model, as in, she gets her picture taken, and her facebook pictures are professional looking poses, and she is young, and petite, and very pretty. She said she was 5’1″ or something, I forget, and so I see her as competition, because I am 5’2″ and that’s a good thing when you are trying to attract a short, small guy who probably enjoys being a couple inches taller than the girl. She is also intelligent and a good writer, and she always seems to be saying something interesting, and she really seems like a nice person, too. I can’t help liking her. I *like* her. If she was mean and stupid, I wouldn’t be jealous of her, but she’s actually cool.

She tried to go to this modeling competition, and I can almost remember the name of it, but you had to be taller than 5’6″ or something. I’m really trying to remember what it was called now. There was a website for it. I sort of found it. It was something by Tyra Banks. Anyway, I was on HER side – I got mad too whenever she said she wasn’t allowed to get in because she was too short, but the website actually said that they wanted women who would redefine beauty, and they wanted to include ‘plus size’ women along with petite women and other women who aren’t usually in modeling. They actually said the word ‘petite’ somewhere in there. So how come they weren’t letting petite women in? I felt like the whole thing was a fraud after I read about that. That was when I went to look at her facebook page. So again, I’m jealous of this girl and yet I think she’s cool and I can’t help liking her. That’s why it’s so painful. That’s just another part of the torture of seeing his facebook page again and reading all the people he talks to and seeing his photos.

The Tyra Banks website was kind of sad and pathetic in a way. There were comments on the web page from hundreds of people writing to her as though they expected Tyra Banks herself to answer them, like a personal friend. Or like they thought she would actually listen to their suggestions and requests, ‘I wish you would do this, I wish you would do that, I wish you would do a contest that allowed X,’ etc. Or ‘Waaah! Tyra, my life sucks so bad, but you have given me new hope for a new definition of beauty! Thank you so much! Waah!’ And I can’t remember what the lady said, but she had a picture of herself, and she was one of the ‘plus-sized’ women. I know from experience that they never do models of ‘plus-sized’ women who look REALLY fat. They show the borderline normal plus sized women instead. The women who are so barely even pleasantly plump that you can hardly even say they’re fat at all. They don’t show the plus-sized women who weigh 200 pounds. They show the woman who weighs, maybe, 140 pounds instead of 100. Okay, maybe that’s not quite enough. 150? You get the idea.

Anyway the other part of the torture is not just about being jealous of the girls who talk to him, and jealous of Carrie, but also, the feeling that I can’t control what he chooses to do, and he got caught driving his car without a license (because he lost his license in a drunk driving arrest a few months ago), and so he’s lost his license again for a year. In the failed-post blog I was saying that I know how a parent might feel. You love your child but you can’t control what they do, and you wish they wouldn’t do something, but you can’t stop them. That’s how I feel. I wish he wouldn’t take that risk of getting caught driving again. I have a protective feeling and a helpless feeling. I’m scared that something really bad will happen – he said he almost went to jail. I don’t want him to go to jail. I also don’t want him to have to keep paying fines and losing his money on that.

I’m slightly getting used to talking to him in email for real. It was hard for me the past couple days because I had a stomach virus a couple times, and when I’m sick, my emotions are distorted, and everything feels like sickness, so I don’t know how I would really feel on a normal day.

Oddly enough, I think the reason I didn’t cry last time I saw him was because I wasn’t drinking the Amish milk for the past couple days. When I drink the raw milk, I really do cry very easily and frequently and spontaneously. I don’t know what it is about the milk that does that to me. (Not all Amish milk is raw. I just happen to know of an Amish house on a road near here where they happen to sell raw milk.)

I was saying that my feelings are back on the roller coaster ride. And I’m still scared that I will freak out or do something stupid, and I can’t be trusted. I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing to the wrong person, online. It’s so easy to do something spontaneous and impulsive, or to be a puppet and be forced to say something. I don’t have control over that, especially if I’m extremely upset and helpless and panicking, like I was when I was trying to tell him not to join the army.

He told me he hardly EVER looks at his old yahoo email. That explained why he wasn’t getting my letters there. And I did send a bunch of things to his yahoo, but I also sent a few to facebook, so he at least got some of them. I can’t remember whether my ‘don’t join the army’ letters were sent to yahoo or facebook, that’s what I was trying to remember, and because of my browser problem, I can’t view my ‘sent mail’ folder on facebook. I’d have to dig around my other email and see if it’s in there.

I guess I should finish this up and get ready to work.

After watching ‘The Chumscrubber’ and watching it again with the director’s commentary, I’m interested in camera angles. When I took the nude video of myself, I did it quickly without thinking about the camera angles, and as a result, there are upside-down shots, and things like that. Then I tried to ‘fix’ that ‘problem’ in the next video, only to find that it took a lot of life out of the video and it was less interesting. The upside-down shots are the view you would have during sex, for instance, in the 69 position when you are crouched over someone. So the upside-down camera angles aren’t bad, they’re good, and you can use them on purpose. Now I’m reading more about camera angles. There are so many ways you can do it.

am i really doing this?

November 16, 2010

7:54 PM 11/16/10

So I actually got a little bit sick today, and it wasn’t just because of overexcitement. I might have caught a little bit of a virus, but it wasn’t enough to make me vomit for real. I just wasn’t able to eat, and I felt nauseated for most of the day, even after my excitement died down. So everything felt like nausea and sickness all day long.

I was thinking about how it feels to start a new physical relationship in the real world. It’s disgusting, and imperfect, and disappointing, and strange. You see someone’s naked body for the first time, and you’re thinking, oh my god, is that really how you look naked? You’re with them doing the things you fantasized about doing, and when it’s happening you think, I can’t believe I’m really doing this.

That’s one reason why I’m a nudist. There wouldn’t be any adjustment. You’d be used to seeing people naked all the time. It wouldn’t be shocking to see them naked, it would just be closer than usual.

I made it sound like everything is bad. What I mean is, I WANT the real world, even though it is imperfect, or disappointing, or incomplete, or whatever else. I am programmed to always be dissatisfied. I accept this real and imperfect relationship for whatever it is. I want my expectations to be realistic. I know from experience how it feels when a fantasy relationship becomes a real one. I haven’t been with very many people, but it is always strange when you cross over into the real world for the first time. I want the real world – I wouldn’t have it any other way. Loneliness is the other way. I could have my fantasies and always be lonely. Everything would be perfect in the fantasies. In the real world it’s never perfect. I choose the real world anyway.

He’s going to think that he’s too skinny, but that’s not what I mean. I like him BECAUSE he is too skinny. That is what I like. But it takes a while to get used to somebody’s real body even though you like it a lot. I’ve only fantasized about touching him. In the real world it won’t be perfect.

This is all about anxiety, and strangeness, and how weird it is to have the ‘new relationship’ feeling, that sick feeling. I know I was sick all day long, I was nauseated, I think I had a virus, but it also felt like oxytocin sickness from having a new relationship. It felt like the ‘Oh my god, am I really doing this?’ feeling. I learned how to tolerate oxytocin sickness. It feels sick, but it feels good. It took a long time for me to learn that.

success again

November 16, 2010

I ‘stalked’ Curtis again today, and found him.  This time I stayed about five minutes and talked with him, and he invited me back and told me to stop in more often and to keep in touch.  So I can’t really call it ‘stalking’ now.  I’m invited.

It started with butterflies in my stomach.  I disconnected from the internet after writing this morning’s blog, and took a shower and got dressed.  When I was dressed and ready to leave the house, for real, knowing what I was about to do, knowing that I was going get in my car, drive to State College, and go look for him at his job, the butterflies in my stomach began.  It was going to get much worse than butterflies in my stomach.

I decided to go straight into the door where you’re exposed to the produce department right away, instead of sneaking in the other door like I sometimes did.  Then, I thought I saw him, and I walked straight back to where he was.

The butterflies got much worse and became a flood of terror and adrenaline, and my heart was pounding fast.  That is what always happens when I decide to approach him nowadays.  That’s because I’m not just working in the next department beside him like I used to.  I can’t just wander over to visit him now and then in between tasks.  Instead, I have to walk into a place, deliberately, where I don’t belong, where I’m an outsider, where I have no reason to be (because I don’t shop there), and I have to go to him with a purpose, and I can’t pretend to be doing anything else.  Everyone can see me, including him, and everyone knows I’m an intruder.  It’s like in Inception where all the dream projection people turn to look at you, all at once, a thousand hostile faces.  In reality, they’re not hostile to me, but they know I exist, at a time when I’d rather they didn’t know I exist.

So I saw him.  He was doing my old job.  I worked at that store, and also at the one across town, years and years ago, and during some of my time there, I used to chop fruit for hours and hours, and I got up at 4:30 in the morning to get there.  That’s what he’s doing now.  I quit that job.  I actually saw him cutting up pineapple the way that I used to.  I remember how it felt to hold the slices of pineapple in my hand, cut out the core, and chop the slice of pineapple with the knife while holding it in my hand, and then cut the skin off.  He was doing that when I saw him.  It wasn’t pineapple, it was watermelon or something else that he was working on, but I saw the pineapple sitting on the table there.  He was doing it fast and skillfully.  You get so used to it, after doing it for hours and hours every day, that you can do it automatically.  It was years and years ago, but I can still pick up a knife and I can do the same thing the same way.  I’m not afraid of chopping pineapple anymore.  It looks so scary at first, all hard and spiky and inedible, with the big sharp poky leaves on top.  But I know an automatic routine to get right into it quickly in a couple of seconds.  He knows how to do that now.  But it was hard for me to go to that job at 5 AM.  That job is actually one of the reasons why I officially search for jobs that will let me work in the afternoon or evening, because it was almost impossible for me to get up that early.  That’s how I learned.

So I said, ‘Hey,’ or something, and then said it a little louder.  This time, it was easier to get his attention.  I didn’t have to shout ‘hey’ four or five times like before.  (That was embarrassing.)  It was only on the second ‘hey’ that he turned and looked at me.  I beckoned him to come over.  He took his gloves off and came over.

So we stood together and talked, and I was having a panic attack at first, but it died down a little bit after talking to him.  I gave him a note and a gift, and I said, ‘Same as last time.  Don’t lose it.  There’s something important in there.’  He thanked me and took it.  Then I could have run away, but I didn’t.  I leaned against the counter and talked with him.

He has had a bunch of disasters.  This is a suspicious coincidence, and I wonder if we’re being attacked.

1. Kayla and Caden had a car accident. They’re okay.  That explains why Kayla and her mother have been driving a different car when I see them in the drive-thru.  I only noticed that a week or so ago.  He said the car was totaled.

2. His aunt had a car accident.  She had to get all kinds of stitches and other work done to fix her hip and her leg.

3. I myself also had a car accident recently.

So that’s all the car accidents.  Also, Carrie had a health problem and they were very worried about it, but she seems to be okay again.  Curtis had a tooth taken out.  He had mentioned a sore tooth many months ago when we still worked together.  He’s taking a bunch of different pills now.  He doesn’t know why they gave him all the different things they gave him.  That fits with the movie I just watched.  Some of it is for the pain.  They also gave him antidepressants, and a steroid.  I don’t know what the steroid is for, but it’s usually for swelling.  Now, I’m going to get worried about that and I will want to write him notes with all the dire warnings about what those drugs can do.  (Steroids = Cataracts, blindness, violent outbursts…  Antidepressants = Severe withdrawal symptoms, impotence, suicide, murder, worsening of anxiety and depression…)  The doctors won’t have told him *ANY* of that!  He won’t have any idea.

My love notes are usually ‘worry notes,’ not love notes.  Now and then, I will write a little bit about ‘How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways,’ kind of stuff, but not usually.  I sometimes talk about how I want to touch him and I’m afraid to.  Usually it’s the ‘I’m worried about this, I’m upset about that, woe is me,’ kind of thing.  Not really a love note.

He thanked me.  He told me to keep in touch.  He said to stop in more often.  (And no, I understand that he doesn’t always expect me to bring him my gifts.  He wants to see me and talk with me.  I know.  My gift is a way of providing support and showing him that I am serious and I mean what I say, and I demonstrate it through action.  But he likes me too.)

‘They’ have pointed out that it’s analogous to feeding the dog or the cat.  The cats and dogs get their food from us, but we also feel that they love us in general, and it’s not just a fake love, it’s not just pretend, just to manipulate us and get food.  This is analogous.  He was friends with me long before I ever gave him anything.  He didn’t get anything ‘in return,’ except my friendship, all those months when we worked together and talked together.  We worked together for over a year.

I was glad to see him, to stand close to him, to smell him (it’s that same wonderful perfume, whatever it is, deodorant or something?), to look in his eyes, to listen to his voice.  I didn’t touch him, but I came very close to doing it.  I almost did.  Maybe sometime I will.

I didn’t cry this time.  That was different.  Both times when I saw him before, I cried.  I cried before and after seeing him.  This time I didn’t cry.

However, my panic attack was really bad after I finally walked away.  I felt overexcited.  I wanted to touch him and I almost did it.  So I was panicking and overexcited, and trembling, and hyperventilating and panting (but I did this quietly, not in a way that anyone around me would notice), and I felt like I was going to gag and throw up.  You could laugh and say, ‘Ah, love,’ because that’s the cartoon version that everyone has seen, someone who gets so excited that they make themselves sick.  That’s exactly how I felt.  But I didn’t cry.

And so.  Back to life.

lots of quantity, not much quality

November 6, 2010

12:09 PM 11/6/10

I’m trying to wake up and get ready for work. I took a little bit of St. John’s Wort last night just before bed, and I also took a little bit this morning when ‘they’ woke me up at 7:00 or so. I open up the pills, pour out the herb, and eat a little finger-dab of it, so that I don’t get too much. But I had enough this morning that it made me sleepy and I haven’t wanted to get up out of bed. So I’m using Vivarin.

I don’t like using all these drugs. But I have fallen so badly that I can’t help myself. There is so much to do that I can’t do. I don’t like it when the drugs change my personality. I *do* like it that they make me able to do tasks and projects that I normally don’t have enough energy to do, like work on my computer. And also, the one project that has been blocking all of my life – the storage unit full of contaminated belongings.

I haven’t been writing about Curtis much now. ‘They’ have been talking to me about him. They ‘try,’ quote unquote, to make me go and look for him and try to deliver a letter. But I know they’re not really trying. Whenever they decide to force me to do it, they will. They won’t have to ‘try’ and ‘fail’ to make me go do it.

They’ve been saying stuff in my head to make me think that he misses me and he wants to see me. They reminded me about the time when he gave me a raw green bean to taste, and it was wonderful. It tasted and smelled like the garden that my parents had when I was a kid. They made it sound like he would give me something like that again, something small and special. But the two times when I’ve seen him, I’ve been having a panic attack, and couldn’t stay long enough to have a conversation.

In a way, the drug makes me need him less. Again, this reminds me of Edward the vampire in Twilight. The hungrier he is, the harder it is for him to be near Bella. I have had exactly the same thing happen. Whenever I am hungry, literally and physically hungry, when I feel needy in any way at all, it’s very scary for me to be near Curtis (or I should say, ‘it WAS scary,’ in the past tense, back when we worked together). I felt so needy, it made me want to hug him, and I’m guessing it’s an instinctive need to nurse, to breastfeed. You know that it isn’t socially acceptable to do that, so you get very scared because you really, really want to. But you don’t consciously remember that that’s what you want. You just know you want to touch someone, but something bad would happen if you did. But the drugs make me more numb and less needy, and that used to make it easier to be close to him without fear. The less I needed him, the closer I was to him. And often, if I would get something to eat, I would calm down enough that I could then go talk to him.

I don’t know what ‘they,’ the voices, will force me to do with him in the long run. Will they keep trying to make me maintain a relationship with him, even though he isn’t my neighbor, and he isn’t my co-worker, and I haven’t been invited to go see him in the outside world – after I got the email from him that said he didn’t want us to hang out together? I don’t know what ‘they’ are going to make me do.

Also, I don’t know *when* they will make me deliver my letter to him. I have one, and it’s ready to go. I tried and failed, once, last week, but only once. I didn’t try again. I worked on a couple of other things that required me to get up early in the morning, like making a phone call about my car that still needs to get its bumper fixed. It’s like I can only do one small project per day, and if I have some other project or task to do, then I can’t do the project of stalking Curtis.

I was looking for something on the other day. I don’t recall how it started. But I ended up re-discovering the existence of the safety settings on the search results filtering. I forget what it’s called. Safe, moderate, or restricted. I was on SafeSearch. So I changed it to ‘restricted,’ and then started looking at naked pictures and everything on Flickr.

I remember what I was doing. ‘They’ wanted me to take naked pictures of myself, and I wanted to find out how to put them on Flickr. They won’t be on eagledove9, because that’s the one my parents are looking at. I wanted to find out if there were any rules that forbid you to put naked pictures on Flickr. You can do it, but you have to label them ‘restricted’ so that people won’t see them in the safe search.

Anyway I found pictures labeled ‘thin’ (as in, skinny) and ‘boy’ or ‘youth’ or something like that, so I ended up looking at pictures of skinny teenage boys. Apparently other people feel the same way that I feel about them. Some of these pictures were also labeled ’emo,’ and those were the teenage boys with long hair. So then I saw other tags associated with ’emo,’ and I saw the word ‘scene queens,’ and I didn’t know what it meant, so I started reading about scene queens. I thought it meant gay men, but no, it’s referring to females. The ‘scene’ is the social, cultural group of people who like a particular kind of music, in this case, emo. It was showing pictures of how they dress and how they style their hair and what kind of makeup they wear.

A ‘scene queen’ is a girl who becomes very popular in this subculture. I was looking at them and they seem to be the Sx/So instinctual stacking (Oscar Ichazo). Some of them were vegetarians. I found out that human skulls can be a symbol of vegetarianism. I’ve been wondering about human skulls. Human skulls are all over the clothing and jewelry. I started noticing them because Curtis has skull jewelry and pictures on his clothes. It occurred to me that I should be horrified by people worshipping human skulls, but I loved everything Curtis did, and wanted to understand it, so I became curious about who is using images of skulls, and why. He isn’t a vegetarian, so it means something different with him. He likes symbolic images, like roses, and blood, and skulls, things that are in the goth or emo culture. I saw it on his MySpace page and, again, in his clothing and jewelry and his car.

Anyway, why were human skulls associated with vegetarians? Some of the ‘scene queens,’ like Kiki Kannibal, are vegetarians. They believe that killing and eating an animal is the same as killing and eating a fellow human. They twist this belief in a way that says humans are evil, and killing humans is better than killing animals. It’s a feeling of hatred for the human race. And I know if you asked them, they wouldn’t say this, and they wouldn’t admit it, and they would probably call themselves peaceful, and they would probably be anti-war. But I still get the ‘hatred of human beings’ idea from them. The hatred of self.

Years ago I wondered whether I would become a vegetarian. I decided not to. That decision was strengthened when I read about the Weston Price studies. But that’s not the only reason. I decided that if I judged humans to be doing a bad thing when they ate animals, then I should also judge tigers, and sharks, because they are predators too. Why are tigers and sharks forgiven for eating animals? Well, duh, it’s because they’re ‘unconscious,’ and they have no control of themselves! But… wait… you’re saying they’re unconscious? But didn’t you just say they were conscious, and equal to humans? Didn’t you just say it was wrong to kill animals, because animals are humanlike, and they’re conscious, and they have feelings?

So are they conscious, or not? Well, they don’t have free will, or self-control. They can’t make choices. Really? I disagree. If you raise an animal in a cage, and then release it into the wild, it will struggle and have great difficulty surviving. It has to LEARN how to hunt for food and survive in the wild, and it learns it when its parents, and its tribe, TEACHES it how to hunt and survive. Animals have to learn to survive just like humans do. A few things happen automatically without learning, but not everything. And humans, also, can do a few things automatically without learning them, too. We have instincts. So animals have to learn how to survive. They don’t operate automatically just by instinct. They aren’t unconscious. They have to make choices. They have to learn. They make mistakes just like humans do. Their lives aren’t robotic, or automatic, or perfect and flawless and without mistakes. Animal lives don’t happen automatically. They are complex. Like humans, animals have to learn, and make mistakes, and make choices. So in some way, they have free will, too.

So the tigers and sharks are eating their prey, but we forgive them. And they have free will. They are responsible for their actions. (‘Fish are friends, not food!’ from Finding Nemo.) But we forgive them. We can argue that we’re more COMPLICATED than they are. Maybe their lives are simpler.

Darn it, I don’t have time to explain all of this, because I have to get ready for work. I wanted to write it out, but it’s a mess. And I’m writing a lot because I’m on drugs.

Anyway, the point was, I decided not to become a vegetarian. I decided that it was against my nature, because I decided that humans are a semi-carnivorous species, an omnivore. The other apes are, too. Bonobos and chimps eat meat. I don’t remember if gorillas do. I think they eat a little bit. It’s my nature to be carnivorous, so I forgive myself, the same way I forgive the tigers and sharks for being carnivores. It’s a self-acceptance thing. I decided that humans ARE NOT ‘different from’ or ‘better than’ other animals. We are more complicated in some ways, and we can build objects that last a long time, and we can write words on paper that survive after our death, and we don’t see that happening with the animals very much… but then, we’re not looking hard enough. When we look hard enough, we see language in animals, and other forms of culture. If only I had time to write, I’d complain about the contempt and the superiority, the attitudes of the ‘scientists’ who study animals and think that they’re different from humans.

Vegetarians say that animals are different from humans, but also, the same as humans. Animals are different than we are – helpless, weak, automatic, programmed, unable to make choices, not responsible for their actions. But at the same time, animals are the same as humans: they have feelings, they get hurt, we shouldn’t eat them because it hurts when they get killed, their lives matter.

(Note, when I say ‘vegetarians say’ something, it doesn’t mean that ALL vegetarians explain it the same way. I am writing this, but remembering that my brother is a vegetarian, too.)

Bonobos are using language in the wild. They make noises, but we can’t imitate them, because their mouth and throat is different from ours, and the noises are too high-pitched and complicated in a way that we can’t do it. They’re not just making random noises. They’re talking. I don’t know why this idea bothers people so much.

Well, anyway, so I saw lots of human skulls on some of the vegetarian web pages. It’s connected to the idea that killing animals is the same as killing humans, and maybe, that it’s better to kill humans than it is to kill animals, because humans are inherently more evil than the other animals are. I think we should forgive ourselves the way we forgive the other animals.

I wish I could keep writing all day. My writing quality isn’t that great right now. Lots of quantity, not much quality. I feel like sitting and typing because that’s something I enjoy doing. It’s just a satisfying thing to do. But I have to go to work.

Email to Carrie; telling the truth; costumes; stalking; eminem’s drugs

October 8, 2010

11:53 AM 10/8/10

I wrote back to Carrie last night. I told her some of the truth, not all of it.

1. I didn’t tell her that I had created a fakebook account, just like I said I would end up doing, so that I could continue to peek at their pages. I can’t see their photos, because they’re set on private. But I can see the status updates.

2. I told her that I wasn’t working at Weis anymore and that I was ashamed about that. (I am still in denial – I keep thinking maybe I can go talk to them and negotiate something.) But I didn’t say the biggest part of it, which was, I hated the job, and in the past, it wasn’t so bad, but it got worse and worse over time, and I only went in because I looked forward to seeing Curtis. He was the *only* reason I could put up with going to work every day, as things got worse and worse there. So, when he left, I had no reason to go to work. I didn’t tell her that. (Someone I know who works there was talking to me last night, and he said that the chaos in the store has gotten *even worse* since I left. So I have even less motivation to go back.)

3. I told her that I was scared of getting hurt if I went to visit Curtis at his new job. But I didn’t tell her that it was very likely I would try touching, hugging, etc, and that was how he might reject and hurt me. I just made it sound like a general, vague, overall rejection of some kind. I didn’t say what it was that I would probably try to do if I saw him.

They took a bunch of photos just before I shut down my facebook page, while I could still see them. There was a halloween costume that he tried on – I don’t know if he actually bought it – and I can only describe it as ‘totally adorable.’ I don’t really know what the costume *was*. It sort of looked like a bartender, and in one picture, it looked like he was trying to do the thing of leaning back and spraying liquor out of his mouth. There were spider-shaped buttons, or maybe they were bats – I forget – spiders and bats and that kind of thing – down the front of the shirt. Whatever the costume was, it fit him well and it was extremely cute.

I’ve been thinking of a costume. I have a sewing machine now. I could really make my own costume for once. I have wanted to do that for years. I don’t officially celebrate holidays, but I tolerate Halloween. I don’t tolerate Christmas though. I think I would enjoy dressing up. I would like to dress up as a soft, furry animal, since I am a fur lover. I don’t know what kind of animal. I don’t like ‘joke’ costumes as much – that’s not my style. It would be something cute and beautiful and comfortable.

When I was a kid, we had some halloween costumes that we kept afterwards, and every once in a while I would put them on and play in them. I would wear them around the house just like Max in Where The Wild Things Are, in his wolf pajamas. We had a dog, a panda, and a leopard. Then later on there was some kind of thing, I forget what it was – a kangaroo? A giraffe – I think it was the giraffe, yes. They made it for a play that my brother was in. All of those costumes were homemade, and they were comfortable enough that you could wear them around the house as clothing. Even the masks were made of soft comfortable material. I don’t want something with a big heavy head mask made out of hard material, for instance. It would be all fabric with some stuffing here and there if necessary.

I’m sick today. That’s the reason why I’m not out stalking. I have been busy stalking almost every day this week. I am a little more relaxed now because I know which store he’s at, and I know that he is really at that store, and I vaguely know about his schedule – not specifically, just vaguely, and also, I’m more relaxed because Carrie has emailed me and so we are still in contact.

How I *feel* about the stalking: I have a few different perspectives on it. One perspective is the ‘sort of a joke’ feeling that I have while I write about stalking. I use the word ‘stalking’ here in my blog and it is, slightly, a joke. In reality, I warned him that I would be trying to go visit him, and I actually begged him to tell me not to. I warned him many times in many different ways that if he left, I would become a basket case and I would do crazy things to try to get his attention and I would be trying to email him and thinking the emails weren’t going through, and all that. I warned him in paper notes, I mentioned it briefly in conversations out loud, I sent him dozens and dozens of text messages although he only got some of those because some of them went to his old phone numbers, as he’s had three different phone numbers since I’ve known him.

So he’s known about this for a long time and he has refused to set boundaries the way I’ve asked. I asked him to tell me in details about what I can and can’t do, but he never discussed it with me. It’s obvious that he just *doesn’t care* if I go visit him at his job or not. He might want me to, he might be happy about it, or he might just not give a shit one way or the other. Whatever it is, he can’t be bothered to write an email telling me to stay away from him. (I’m having a reaction to a drug residue. There’s been a problem at my computer where I sit. It’s either on the chair or on some part of the computer, like the keyboard. It makes my heart pound too fast. When that happens, I get into an angry, agitated mood that won’t go away. That is why I hate the drug residues. It might even be something on the cardboard that I put on the floor.) Anyway, that’s why it’s kind of a joke to call it stalking. He either doesn’t care, or else he’s happy about it. He can’t even take the trouble to tell me strongly to stay away from him. And his girlfriend/fiancee is still writing emails to me as though I’m not an enemy.

Also, in another perspective, I feel a sense of honor or duty in doing this. This is the part that my friends and family would describe as ‘delusional.’ I feel that there is something important about staying connected with him, because the voices are telling me to. Like it’s something to be proud of, choosing to hold on and maintain a relationship even though it is difficult to do, instead of just giving up and letting go. I see myself in the role of a protector.

And I know: How can I sometimes say the voices are my enemy, they are human beings pushing buttons on a machine, it’s electronic harassment, and all that, and other times I say that I agree with something they are ‘guiding’ me to do – like many people who interpret them as being ‘spiritual guides?’ It’s true, that is a contradiction. I don’t believe that they are ‘spiritual guides,’ and I think it’s a lie to call themselves that, when I believe they are human beings pushing buttons on a machine. However, do I sometimes agree with something they try to make me do? Yes, I do sometimes agree with them.

Several things have changed my reaction to the voices.

1. I removed my metallic dental filling. The metal dental filling made me sick at my stomach constantly. That constant sickness manifested as hate, anger, bitterness, all the time. It made me hate the voices and feel rebellious simply because I was sick and I hated everything. The new plastic fillings are very bad, too, and they have side effects, but they don’t make me sick and bitter all the time.

2. I’m not using drugs, except small amounts of drug residues. When I’m on antidepressants, I hate the voices and I rebel against everything the attackers do.

Without antidepressants, and without silver-mercury amalgam dental fillings, I am much more tolerant towards the voices.

(I was thinking about eminem last night. They told me he’s using prescription drugs, and that’s why his songs are full of violence. Prescription antidepressants cause murder and suicide, and they also cause fights when you are in a relationship. They said that he is at great risk because of his drugs, and that he might be dead within a year, and that he absolutely must stop using the prescription drugs and he has to go to a hospital to do the withdrawal, because the withdrawal is just as dangerous as the drugs.)

I don’t know how many different people are using the mind control systems. Some of them might be trying to fight against the ‘root of all evil,’ the government. I don’t know who they are. Others might be within the government itself. Others might be trying to make money by owning slaves and entertaining themselves at the slaves’ expense. Others might be individual criminals doing something for their own reasons.

Someone with Curtis’s screen name asked a question to Mythbusters about how Indiana Jones climbs into a lead-lined refrigerator to escape from the nuclear explosion in the latest movie, the one about the aliens with the weird shaped heads. I saw that movie too, and I thought the same thing about how the refrigerator could not possibly protect you against a nuclear explosion. However, if you were actually stuck someplace where a bomb was about to go off, even if it was a nuclear bomb, it might make you feel better if you climbed inside a refrigerator, so you might as well do it anyway. That’s if there wasn’t enough time to run far away from the blast or get in your car and drive away.

Jivisha, the dark entrance, and other stuff

October 6, 2010

So last night I was restless, and I went around taking pictures in town in the dark. I went looking for creepy places and found them. I found the ‘dark entrance,’ a little entrance underneath a building in an alley, and took a picture of it. I didn’t really pay attention to what the little graffiti picture was, but I just noticed it’s a thundercloud with lightning. I don’t trust any lightning-related symbols because of electronic harassment.

Second thing. I was searching for radio frequency on Twitter and found a fellow sufferer named Jivisha who I tried to follow. I’ve been able to follow other people successfully, so I know which buttons to push and where to go and all the basic stuff. But no matter how hard I try I can’t keep following Jivisha. It unfollows me. I was following him/her for about a day. (I actually don’t know whether it’s a guy or girl, I thought it was a guy.) I then started having technical problems on my phone where it kept saying I had to log in to look at Jivisha’s page, even though I had already logged in several times, and I had successfully followed other people without having to re-login.

Carrie: I was just about to send Carrie an email (using my gmail, not facebook) to tell her I was sorry to hear about her grandfather’s death. I opened up my gmail, and Carrie had already written to me to say hello and ask how I was doing. I had resolved that when I wrote to her, I would say nothing at all about Curtis, and I wouldn’t ask her for any more favors or any help, I was just going to say sorry about her grandfather. So I replied to her and I said that, and also told her I had deleted my facebook to try to stop myself from causing any more problems for anyone.

Yesterday, they wanted me to google Martin again. I found a new page I hadn’t seen before. He has a blog, but it’s a Penn State ‘public’ kind of blog, not a personal one. Sort of formal. He also has a flickr account that I had never seen before, with pictures of golf courses, because he was studying turfgrass as his major. I have a link to his facebook page somewhere, because it doesn’t show up in searches. I haven’t tried it anytime recently. I haven’t looked at Martin at all for a long time. I don’t know why they suddenly wanted me to look for him again.

I have to work at McD tonight. ‘They’ haven’t been pushing me very hard about getting a second job. However, I need one because I am hemorrhaging money all the time, because of my unusual expenses having to do with 1. drug residues and 2. the refrigerator not being usable. Although yes, I am using a small fridge in my bedroom, but it’s still not the same as using the big fridge and filling it with groceries and cooking my own food. All my food is fast food, and I hate it. I *hate* fast food and I’m sick of it. I tried using Craigslist to arrange to buy home-cooked food, and I got lots of replies, but I haven’t been able to follow up on the project, because of my falling down in general and not caring about anything. So I still need extra money and that means I need a second job at all times, even if I only work a few hours. Forty hours isn’t enough, in the long run. I will slowly, or quickly, drain my bank account if I work only forty hours. And it doesn’t have to be much more than forty. It only needs to be a little bit more than that. It doesn’t have to be 72 hours. It could be up to 50, and that’s just barely okay. It’s good enough. I’ve been hemorrhaging money…

That fits with ‘I will bleed for you.’ This is one of the phrases they say in my head about Curtis. That I would bleed for him. My money is my blood. I would give him this. This is the hours of my life, of my slavery. Giving money to him means a lot to me.

I still haven’t seen him. I don’t know what Carrie will say. It’s possible that she might ask something like, ‘Did you get a chance to say hi to Curt yet?’ or something. If she asks me that, then we will talk about the ‘Where and when is he working?’ details. I still don’t know how to tell her how I feel about him and what I want to do.

Here is the problem. Curtis was always kind, gentle, and tolerant. He showed some signs of sexual attraction to me, but not all the time. It depended on both of our moods, and the drugs we were using, either one of us. Anyway, he always tolerated me if I touched him, and I didn’t touch him a lot, but he let me do it when I did. It’s possible to strongly reject somebody, to tell them strongly ‘no,’ to make them not touch you, ever. He never did that. He accepted the touches.

And so, if I see him again, I can take advantage of that tolerance. I could give him a hug, I could hold him in my arms longer than a hug is supposed to last, I could kiss him or stroke him or do something that goes beyond friendship, I could touch him in ways that Carrie wouldn’t want me to touch him. I think he would tolerate whatever I did, even if he wasn’t quite sure about it or wasn’t quite comfortable with it. He doesn’t usually say ‘no’ to me in a strong way. He might allow it, he might enjoy it, or he might not really enjoy it but not have the heart to say ‘no’ either. But I could do it. And it seems unfair that Carrie would help me to achieve that goal with her fiancee. I have tried to tell her how I feel about him, how strongly attracted I feel. I am not just a casual friend going to visit him and say hello. I am an intensely focused crush, a potential lover, being pushed and encouraged by the voices in my head, I am someone who is not entirely in control of my own actions, but also, I agree with what the voices are pushing me to do. I’m not just a ‘casual hello.’

So I will see what she says.

I’m not a real friend

October 5, 2010

That’s what I’m trying to say. I feel bad about asking Carrie for help, and I feel bad that she answered my emails and talked to me about Curtis, when I’m not a real friend, when I’m actually trying to do something that she wouldn’t want me to do. And her grandparents died, and I can’t give her my sympathy, 1. because I’m not on facebook anymore, and 2. because Curtis is the person that I’m trying to stay connected to, not her.

The voices wanted to make me accept her as ‘family’ also. But apparently they changed their mind about that and decided not to make me try that. That ‘feeling’ has disappeared, and all of a sudden, I’m allowed to call her a competitor, instead of viewing her as a family or friend who I’m supporting. Those feelings, those interpretations, are fake, and they can be controlled from one day to the next. For whatever reason, they’re not pushing hard on the ‘support Carrie as your friend and family member’ interpretation today. They were, before. Now they’re not. I am a puppet.

I don’t want to be a liar. I don’t want to pretend to be nice to Carrie when I’m actually trying to get her fiancee.

And yes, Curtis can keep on seeing Carrie. I’m not trying to separate them. I’m trying to visit him on the side. That means either cheating or polyamory. Either way, Carrie never gave me permission to have a sexual relationship with him. She tolerated the idea of a friendship. Polyamory says that everyone involved knows what’s happening and gives their consent. Cheating means that somebody doesn’t know, and doesn’t consent. So it’s cheating. Although she would at least have the idea that I’m a possible threat and she knows that I *want* to be with him sexually. It’s not a secret and it’s not a surprise.

I saw a T-shirt from one of my facebook friends. It said, ‘Polyamory is WRONG!’ It was a joke. Underneath that it said, ‘It’s either multiamory or polyphilia, but, mixing Greek and Latin roots? WRONG!’ This is because the parts of the word ‘polyamory’ come from Greek and Latin roots, and you’re supposed to use either all Greek, or all Latin, but not both in the same word. So that was the joke. The idea is that polyamory ITSELF isn’t necessarily wrong. Only the WORD is wrong. Anyway, though, because of that joke, I like to call it ‘multiamory.’ I actually agree with the joke.

So today, I’m allowed to feel, or I’m supposed to feel, or I’m being forced to feel, disgusted about myself because I don’t have genuine sympathy for Carrie at her grandparents’ death.

I never lived close to my grandparents. They were always far away, in New Jersey. It was a long drive and we didn’t go there often. So I didn’t grow up with them. My other grandfather was living here in Bellefonte, but for most of my life, I lived in other faraway cities – first Greensburg PA, then Scott Depot, WV. So I still didn’t see him every day. (My paternal grandmother was already dead a long time ago. I never knew her.) I don’t know what it’s like to live near your grandparents or live with them and grow up with them there every day.

Curtis’s grandmother surprised me. I saw her once when she came to get him at Weis. I thought she was his aunt. She is young, actually middle-aged. That’s because his mother gave birth to him when she was in her early or mid-teens. She was a very young mother. My grandparents were always ‘old,’ even when I was a kid.

Anyway, this is yet another reason why I won’t soon be emailing her to ask her to help me find Curtis. Sorry you just lost both your grandparents… Oh well! Can you help me find your fiancee so that I can enjoy his company again? It’s the combination of not having any real, sincere sympathy, and at the same time, automatically knowing I have to be respectful. I’m not a real friend. I’m doing something you wouldn’t want me to do, something you didn’t give me permission to do, something that would hurt you. I’m not a real friend.

Straight Talk

September 21, 2010

4:43 PM 9/21/10

It’s not long until I go to Barnes & Noble tonight, the one ritual routine that I have faithfully followed.

So, some things happened that may have been puppet incidents. There is a conflict between what Curtis says and what he does – as always. I got an email from him saying: no one is hacking his email, he doesn’t need my help, he can pay his own child support. (All of a sudden now that I’ve started writing, there are a million things to say and I can’t say them all fast enough.) But he has been doing facebook comments that make it seem as though he’s reading *my* facebook page. That’s a typical puppet phenomenon. He says things that seem related to things I’ve said. The idea is that I’m supposed to think he is interested in my life, he’s still reading what I write, and he doesn’t want me to leave him. But he ignores my emails and says he doesn’t need my help, but he won’t tell me to leave him alone either. I am trying to get a straight answer out of him. (I like the name of my cameraphone, Straight Talk.)

I told Carrie in an email that it would be best if he blocked me on facebook so he couldn’t get any more emails from me, and also if he made his page private so that I couldn’t see it anymore and wouldn’t know what was going on in his life. I will probably resend the same email to him, not just Carrie.

I’ve been messing with two cameraphones. I bought them – first (yeah, my writing is jumbled today, too many thoughts at once) – first I bought one, and I thought it had a videocamera, but it didn’t. The sign above it at Wal-Mart said that it *did* have a videocamera. So I was going to return it, but instead of returning it, I just bought a second one, the higher-end one that was a little more expensive. It didn’t have a videocamera either. So the sign was completely wrong. None of them have a videocamera. They *do* both have a single-shot photo camera, just not a videocamera. So anyway, I haven’t returned either one, and haven’t decided which one I like more, and I’m keeping them both for now, and texting back and forth between them, and learning and troubleshooting. It turned out to be a happy accident that I bought two phones instead of one, because now I can send myself text messages and see how they look on the other end, and learn how to do it all without bugging other people.

They also have bluetooth. I need to learn how to use it. Nancy at Weis told me that she has a bluetooth router that lets her use her mobile phone to connect her laptop to the internet. In other words, her laptop is on, and it uses a wireless connection to a special bluetooth device, which connects to her phone, which connects to the net. You have to purchase the special router device. I’d look around at Best Buy to see if they have anything like that. I am getting the impression that there is a lot of stuff that my Straight Talk phone can’t do, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s the learning experience that matters. What I mean is, I can learn: ‘Gee, I really wish I could do *this*, but I can’t!’ so I know for future reference what features I want to have on my smartphone. If I find out that I want to do something, but I can’t, that’s the only way to learn what kind of phone I want to have, since I’ve never had one before. I’ve only had the cheapest, most basic Tracfones that don’t take pictures and don’t connect to the internet. All they can do is text, and actually, my oldest tracfone can’t send text messages because of some unexplained technical problem, so I bought a new tracfone a while back that’s able to send text messages (when I was trying to text Curtis).

It helps that I still have my iPod. I’ve made a bunch of new purchases of techno-devices in the last few months – many of them were puppet incidents, where ‘they’ decided to urge me to go out and buy something. All of this is a learning experience. I didn’t know anything about what an iPod was or what it could do. It’s actually easier to use than my smartphone (for surfing the net), but it doesn’t have its own internet connection, and it doesn’t have a camera. I thought it had a camera when I bought it, and I was asking a clueless Wal-Mart employee who wasn’t sure either, and he said he thought it had a camera. I kept it anyway, even though I got it home, opened it, and found out there was no camera.

I looked up ‘bluetooth ipod’ on the internet, and saw some pages where they found out that iPods were able to use bluetooth, but it wasn’t enabled yet, but the chip and the hardware was in there, and you had to have the latest operating system to be able to use it. If I figure out bluetooth, I might be able to do more with my phones and my iPod and my new laptop.

Summary of recent electronics purchases, bought sometime this year, after I went a really long time without buying any new gadgets:

1. New tracfone, able to send text messages. That was because of Curtis.
2. New laptop. (I already had another laptop, which is forbidden to connect to the net. That one was meant for me to do creative work on, like writing songs on Propellerheads Reason.) The new one is called a Netbook. It’s a tiny, minimal laptop meant to connect to the wireless internet. But it has useful programs on it, like Excel. I plan on using Excel to do my bookkeeping. It also has a webcam. I tried covering up the webcam by sticking the little iPod’s plastic sticker over top of it, the little sticker that originally comes on the iPod’s screen, but the sticker keeps lifting up. I’m paranoid about webcams because I don’t want hackers to set up my webcam to take naked pictures of me walking around in my bedroom with my computer on, and that kind of thing. It can happen. Not that it matters when I’m already being spied on by the highest-tech surveillance methods available on earth right now, and they can see me through my walls. But the lower-tech hackers could still gain something by doing that. Same goes for my camera phone. Hackers can find a way to take pictures automatically, save them in a secret place where you won’t see them listed in ‘my images’ or whatever folder, and then upload the images. It all depends on how dedicated the hackers are, and how badly they want to spy on you. There are almost seven billion people on earth, and a lot of them are hackers. And they spend hundreds of hours finding ways to do secret little things that nobody else knows how to do. And they post their secrets on the internet so the other hackers can use them.
3. New iPod.
4. New Straight Talk Phone #1.
5. New Straight Talk Phone #2.

The voices are fighting and fighting against me trying to separate myself from Curtis. They want to convince me that he still cares about me, he misses me, and so on. They want to convince me to keep trying and trying and trying to offer money to him. Every time I talk about my new phone on facebook, I get voices telling me that Curtis is upset about my getting a new phone.

I have to make it through this week. One more week of too many hours – about 72 hours total. Next week I’ve cut back at Weis, the place where I have painful memories and I cry every morning (unless I drink lots of coffee). It’s hard to describe the feelings I had for Curtis. Whenever we had a conversation, I felt this trusting pleasure simply by standing next to him and talking and listening. There was a feeling of warmth in my body, in my chest. I loved the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, the warmth of his body when he was close to me, the trusting way he told me about what was going on in his life – and we never had enough time to talk, since we were on the clock and always in a hurry, always rushed to get back to work and not get in trouble. One time, he gave me a sprouted onion that would have gone in the trash. I cherished it as a gift, took it home, and planted it in a cup, and watered it. The sprouts grew for a few weeks, but I got sick for a few days – it was during the wintertime – and I didn’t water it, and it dried out and the sprouts died. I wanted to plant it outdoors and grow it. He just did it as a silly little thing, for the heck of it, but I took it as though it was a special, wonderful gift and I wanted to keep it alive.

Because of him, I’ve noticed that it’s very hard for adults to be close to teenagers or children. I’m thinking about this because of the voices trying to get me together with young boys, and talking about pedophilia, hebephilia, and so on. There are hardly any situations where I am close to young teenagers. And I can’t think of any social environment where adults ‘mix’ with teenagers and children. The more I think about it, the more it seems like this is wrong, something wrong with our society. Children only socialize with other children, at school, and after school together. The only reason I met Curtis was because he was a high school dropout who had to get a job, and he wasn’t going to college. All the older teens are still in school, and going to college, and you can only meet them if you work someplace like McDonald’s where there are always teenagers working. What if I was stuck working in an office environment with nothing but adults? I can’t believe I used to live that way. I used to work temp jobs in office environments where everybody was older. It’s so much fun being around young people. They’re more playful, more full of spirit, and they have so much more going on in their lives. There’s so much more life in them.

It makes me think about how ‘closed’ all of our houses and neighborhoods are. It makes me think of intentional communities, about how we would have little small cottages or tents or wigwams or whatever, something primitive, and when you walk out your door, your neighbor’s tent is right next to you, and you walk around from tent to tent and they are a very short distance apart. This desire is something that all of the intentional community people would understand, the desire to have your neighbors close to you. Our houses are too big, too far apart, with big giant lawns that have to be mowed with a lawnmower, instead of letting the cows eat the grass so that you can milk the cow and have your own raw milk for your family. It’s wasteful. The zoning laws probably forbid people to graze cows on their lawns. I get angry every time I drive down the road and I see the huge, huge, huge lawn and the person driving their lawnmower over it, while I myself would do anything to have a big lawn and my own cow grazing on it and my own raw milk for my family. Think of all the money people could save, all the money they could make, if it was ‘normal’ for everybody to use cows and goats to graze their lawns instead of a lawnmower, and they’d have their own milk.

It would be much easier to fall in love if we were closer to our neighbors, too, and if children and adults were mixing all day, if people weren’t isolated from each other. Intentional communities already know all about this. We would actually interact with people when we stepped outside. It’s also a desire to ‘trust’ your neighbors, that they will be the same neighbors forever, instead of changing and moving every year. There is so much turnover in every apartment complex. There are always people moving and leaving every year. In State College, the town, when I walk around and look at strangers on the street or in the stores, they don’t like to make eye contact. This is because we all know that we are all temporary. But in Bellefonte, strangers on the street and in the stores are trusting people. They make eye contact and they start up random conversations with you, as though they know you’re safe and you’ll always be there and you’ll meet them again next week. People in Bellefonte aren’t always changing and leaving the way people in State College do, because most of the people in State College are temporary students there.

I’m having my heart broken right now – the heartbreak has been an ongoing torture lasting for months and months and months as I’ve wanted to be with Curtis and I can’t – and that heartbreak is making me think about ‘What caused this to happen?’ The answer is usually ‘There’s something wrong with our society.’

I’ll post this for now. It’s random and it has lots of different topics in it. I don’t know why I’m so ADD today. I think I’m getting over a cold, because I was ‘hit by a train’ the last two days, and all I did was sleep, and I have a cold sore in my mouth.

Soul crushing grief

September 14, 2010

5:43 PM 9/14/10

I just have to get through the next couple weeks and then I’ll be okay. I requested a reduction of my hours at Weis. I fell off the wagon again! I had stopped drinking coffee for several weeks and was doing okay. But the 70 hour work weeks, and the increasing darkness of winter, and Curtis finally leaving just as I always said he would, made it so I was crying through the first few hours of work. I also have a theory that drinking the raw cow’s milk had something to do with making me cry. It was several factors all at once. So I started drinking coffee just to stop crying and make myself able to work.

I have had bad fatigue attacks and drug residue outbreaks the last week or so too. The drug residues gave me courage to do some crazy behavior, such as offering Curtis’s ex-girlfriend the money for her child support. I wouldn’t have done that without the drug residues, but according to mainstream society, drug residues don’t exist; therefore they are one of the most important areas of knowledge and experience that people will be taught when they join the order.

Anyway, I know I will be too tired to get up in the morning, so I went out and bought some Vivarin. I haven’t had Vivarin in years, ever since the ephedra incident in 2007. I don’t eat the whole pill. I shatter it and crumble it into tiny, tiny pieces, and then I eat only one tiny fragment of it. I will need to do this every morning to get myself to work every day for the next couple weeks until the schedule change sets in.

I won’t be able to make it. There is nothing to look forward to at work. We have a new boss who is causing total chaos in the department. Not only that, but our old boss left, and everyone liked him, and he made the work environment much more pleasant and enjoyable. So that’s adding to the difficulty of going to work every day.

And Curtis isn’t there now, and he’s the only thing I looked forward to every day. I begged him and I warned him, since the beginning, last summer, in 2009, when we first met – I told him from the beginning, ‘Someday, you’re going to leave, and when you do, I’m going to be a basket case, and I’m going to do crazy stuff like writing emails to your ex-girlfriends.’ And he didn’t heed my warnings. I told him, ‘You have to give me some way to stay in touch with you in the real world, because all of our emails will get deleted and intercepted.’ He didn’t believe me. But my phone calls, texts, and emails are indeed all being deleted (and only some of them get through – the bad ones, not the good ones), and I’ve verified this several times with different people who insist that they really did call me and it never got through, and that kind of thing. It’s real. I wrote these messages on paper, but I think he has a reading disability, and so he didn’t really understand what I said. Not only that, but he’s a victim and a puppet like everyone else, so they would blank out his brain while he was trying to read.

Getting paid to date people: I want to write about this and think about it some more. I must wait until the schedule changes, because I’ve been so busy, I can’t even EMAIL anybody. And I swore I was going to get a new phone with an internet connection, but I was so exhausted all day that all I could do was sleep, so I didn’t get the phone today or yesterday. That is why I’ve bought the Vivarin. I will not be able to get to work, and I’m going to be calling off sick just because of exhaustion. I will be taking Vivarin crumbles to help me survive for a couple weeks.

In fact, I’m doubting that I’ll be able to get to work tomorrow morning, with the way I feel. I said I would talk to Scott about my schedule, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It required more energy and mental focus than I had. I had to think of what I was asking for, and summon up the courage to do it. This is desperation. I really won’t be able to show up for work.

And the murderers played a little oversleeping trick on me the other day. Usually, they wake me up an hour before my alarm, or several hours. Or they put me to sleep and then wake me up right before the alarm goes off. But a few nights ago, they forced me to stay awake all night long, and then forced me to sleep through my alarm. Then they forced me to wake up at exactly 7:00 AM – the time when I was supposed to be *AT* work – and I had to call them and tell them I was going to be late for work. That’s something they’ve never done to me before. They were ‘proving a point’ that they had probably forced Curtis to oversleep and lose his job. I already know that they’re *able* to do that, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that they *did* do it.

I was going to talk to Scott and change my schedule right away. That would take courage, desperation, and commitment to do what I was doing. I had to be sure, and I had to *feel* sure, that this was necessary and inevitable. It has become clear and obvious to me that I can’t get up that early and go to work while working a second job and being at seventy hours a week (and suffering from seasonal affective disorder, and the soul-crushing grief of losing a beloved friend). I was going to try to negotiate some shift changes with the other couple people who are still there. We’ve lost almost everyone, and nobody is available to cover the shifts, and they have this irrational phobia of giving overtime to anyone for any reason no matter how few people we have. They would rather see empty shelves with nothing on them, because there aren’t any employees there to produce the food, rather than pay people overtime to stay a few hours and make the food. We really have had empty shelves lately.

What will you do differently next time? I said on Facebook that my life was just like the movie Groundhog Day, except it was actually Patriot Day, September 11th. You wake up every morning and you have to convince everybody that a terrible disaster is about to happen, that you’re going to be attacked, and you have to do something to prevent the disaster. And you have to fall in love before you go to sleep that night, and get them to love you in return. Or the next day, you wake up to ‘I Got You Babe’ on the clock radio again. That is my life.

What will I do differently next time? Next time the puppeteers bring me a beautiful, skinny young boy to fall in love with, and they force me to try writing letters to him instead of saying ‘It’s impossible, don’t even try.’

Next time, I’ll assume he’s illiterate. Curtis probably really is illiterate for real. This isn’t a joke. I seriously think he is unable to read. How am I going to give handwritten notes to an illiterate person? This is basic troubleshooting. When the appliance won’t turn on, the troubleshooter’s first step says, ‘Is the unit plugged in?’ So my first troubleshooting step will say, ‘Is he able to read?’ The person must be able to read if I am to give them handwritten notes. The handwritten notes won’t be intercepted, but they cannot have a reading disability, and I’m fairly sure Curtis had a reading disability. He seemed to only catch a few words of things I had written, and didn’t understand any of the rest of it.

People with reading disabilities need to have a shield around them to protect them against being attacked while trying to read. The murderers make everything worse. If you have any handicap or weakness at all, the murderers attacking you make your brain even *less* able to function.

And I don’t have anything against people with reading disabilities. I just can’t reach them right now. As soon as I’m strong enough, I’ll be able to reach them. But right now, the only way I can communicate is by writing. So all the illiterate people will be falling through the cracks right now until I am strong enough to protect us while we talk out loud about taboo subjects. The murderers prevent me from speaking taboo subjects out loud, and it was even more difficult because we were at work and had limited time to spend talking.

Taboo subjects: They know what those subjects are, but I don’t. It’s a list of ideas and beliefs. Some of the beliefs are things like ‘What I want matters.’ It matters what I want. You have to *feel* that it matters what you want. Your soul, your desires, your needs, your values, your life – they matter. They’re important. To actually *feel* that feeling is taboo. To feel it, to be motivated by it: it matters what I want, and I’m going to *do* something about it, *right now*. That’s taboo.

Cameraderie is taboo. We’re all in this together. You’re not allowed to feel that feeling.

I don’t know if I’ll make it through this week. I might call off sick from Weis. I still have McDonald’s, and I can increase my hours there. I still need to buy a phone! I haven’t decided which phone and which plan to buy. I might make a fast impulse buy and just live with it whether I like it or not, and learn from the experience, instead of getting it perfect the first time. But I have been so tired, I couldn’t even bring myself to get to Best Buy to get the phone. I can barely bring myself to get up and go to Barnes & Noble this evening.

My blog will have photos in it now, occasionally, as soon as I get my photo-phone. I can write about what I see. I already have a camera, but because of some technical difficulties, it’s a pain in the ass to get photos from my camera moved over to my PC. It *can* be done, but I tend to postpone doing anything that’s a pain in the ass to do, especially when I’m working 70 hours a week and suffering from fatigue attacks and soul-crushing grief.

Right now, in the time of grief, nobody matters to me except Curtis. I can’t imagine that there is anyone else beautiful in the world worth looking at. I see attractive guys but they mean nothing to me. I really don’t care about them. I am torn apart, being social and antisocial at the same time, trying to force myself to meet people, then pulling away and dropping everyone all at once, neglecting to send emails, failing to meet anyone – even some of the people who expressed an interest in the order of retmeishka.

In the order, we hand-deliver important messages on paper. We all agree to this. It is required by the order. We can email them too, if we want, but we will have a troubleshooting procedure to find out, ‘Did you get my message?’ and find out which messages said what. The messages are corrupted by disinformation. Failure to get there at all, or having words changed, or only some of the messages get there but not all of them, or the person who wrote the message was forced to write something that would be taken the wrong way. We can’t protect the person writing the message just yet, but we will be able to, eventually. We can only make sure that the letter is delivered, by hand. That’s the best we can do for now.

I’m going to B&N tonight, and I might possibly talk to someone who expressed an interest in the order. I don’t know if he’ll be there or not. Emailing him and talking on the phone with him is one of the hundred things that I dropped while juggling them over the last few weeks. I dropped everything and everyone.

I’ve thought a lot about incentives to join the order. I have devised money incentives, for instance. Ways we can provide insurance to each other, and get paid to be in the order. I want people to have a material gain by being in the group.

Oh yeah, by the way: Silver is back up at $20 an ounce again.

Okay, continuing last post. I charge $10 an hour for a date.

September 7, 2010

Okay, so anyway.  I started talking about too many things and I needed to type fast with all of my fingers.

So I was keeping my iPod separate from all my logins at first, trying to keep it anonymous, but on the day when Curtis did his no-call no-show, I was frantic to reach Carrie, so I emailed her on Facebook from my iPod, even though I wasn’t supposed to login to anything that I log into from my other computers.  The iPod was supposed to login to a totally separate group of accounts.  So it’s potentially findable now.  That’s okay, when I want to be anonymous again I’ll get another thingamajig to use. (Is ‘login’ ever used as a verb?  I just realized, it’s usually a noun.  Oh well.)

So I’m still in the cliffhanger as to whether I’ll ever get to see Curtis again.  It’s a perpetual cliffhanger that started the first moment I met him, the first time I sent him a text message and he didn’t get it, the first time I left him a voicemail that he didn’t get, the first time I looked in his eyes and saw that he was beautiful.  Will he get torn away from me, or will we be able to bond with each other and stay connected for a long, long time?  Will you disappear and become unreachable through any method of electronic communication?  The cliffhanger was there all along behind every moment we spent together.

Why did I decide to start charging $10 for a date?  This is why I needed all of my fingers to type.  I wish I was at home with my earplugs in my ears so I could concentrate, but I’ll use this for now.

1. Because I don’t like ANY of them.  NOBODY is attractive.  Every date, every guy I look at, is this painful burden, this dull and boring hassle that I have to go through, this unwanted stranger who doesn’t know me, doesn’t care, doesn’t understand, doesn’t look attractive to me at all.

2. There are MILLIONS of them.  There is this endless stream of total strangers begging to go out with me.  They beg me even if I don’t have a picture of myself put up on the website.  They will beg for dates from an anonymous, faceless stranger.  They beg to go out with me even if my profile says nothing about me at all.  This tells me that something is very wrong.

3. I feel sorry for them.  How can there be so many lonely, desperate men who can’t get dates?  They all say the same thing:  ‘Wow!  You actually answered my email!  Nobody ever answers my emails!’

4. I have a lot of unusual expenses because of my drug residues – another one of my life problems that nobody understands, cares about, or agrees with.  I have to buy new socks all the time, for instance.  So I’m working 70 hours a week right now, since I’m no longer receiving money from mom and dad.  I’m exhausted and I can’t take care of myself or do anything I need to do at home.  And I get paid about $6 an hour after taxes.  Charging $10 an hour to go on a sexless, social date is more money than I make at my ‘real’ job.  It seems cheap, but it’s better than $6 an hour.  One of the first people I talked to was telling me I should charge $20.  Like I said, the price will change over time. The goal is to cut back my hours at my ‘real’ jobs so that I don’t need them anymore.  (I’ll still work one day a week because I like to stay connected with familiar faces and a familiar social environment.  And it’s more secure if anything happens, if I need to go back to work.)

This is a business.  I’m not really getting to know these people deeply.  They 1. don’t understand, 2. don’t care, 3. don’t agree with all of the things that matter to me.  It is painful to tell people things that matter most to me, the things that are life and death to me, the things that are the center of my universe, and see a reaction of apathy, indifference, incomprehension, ignorance, disagreement and a refusal to ever change their minds.  Almost everyone will never understand me.

I’m thinking that over time I’ll start showing a pricing scheme that’s more detailed.  Have a political discussion with me? $100 an hour.  Why that much?  (It probably won’t be that much, but just play along for a minute.)  Why so much, because nobody gives a shit what I think, that’s why.  It hurts to tell people my political opinions only to see that they’re just another brainwashed mainstreamer who will never, ever, ever change their minds.  It’s physically painful to me.  So I will set up some prices for things that people have to BEG me to do.  You have to beg me to talk about politics, religion, and so on, because I’m sick of not getting the desired reactions from anyone.

Charging $10 is better than not going out with anyone at all, isn’t it?  Most of these men aren’t getting any dates at all, and they don’t even get an answer to their emails.  I’ve been unable to bring myself to try going out with anyone at all.  I’ve looked, I’ve talked to people, I’ve looked for interesting profiles, but I see nothing at all.  I’m not seeing a lot of guys I find physically attractive, and I’m not seeing people who I would marry, and I’m not seeing people who would understand my ideas and beliefs either.  Nothing.  Just hundreds and hundreds of total strangers who will always be total strangers.  And I’m sick of it.

I don’t have a picture up in the profile, and maybe I won’t put one up, either.  I describe myself in the profile, so they have a general idea, and I say that I’ll show them a picture if they want to see.  So far, a few people are willing to drive long distances to meet someone whose image they haven’t even seen.  And I’ve warned them!  I’ve said, I have dreadlocks, and a mustache, and I don’t shave, and I’m a little bit ugly, but I have a nice body.  That’s a realistic description.  I’m not hideous, but I’m a little bit ugly.  I’ve warned them.  I’ve tried to warn them.  They don’t believe me.  I’ve warned them:  You won’t like me, you won’t appreciate me, you won’t understand me, you won’t think I’m beautiful.  And they don’t listen when I tell them those things, they still want to go out with a faceless stranger who doesn’t even have a picture up.  So now I’m charging them money to do it.

What about repeat business?

The repeat business concept is the heart of it all.  Who wants to come back again?  Who wants to pay for a second date?  The first date is the cheap one.  It’s only $10 an hour.  Of course, that makes sense.  You don’t know what you’re getting into, at first.  You don’t know if you’ll like the products and services I’m selling.  It’s almost like a free sample.  It’s an almost-free sample.  After that, will you come back again?  Maybe the second date will cost more than the first?  Maybe not – haven’t decided yet.

Are you bonding with me for a long time?  Are you serious?  Can you stand to be with a woman who isn’t attracted to you and probably never will be?  Do you really like me that much?  Are you really that curious to know who I am and understand me and be involved in my life?  Do you really give a shit?  Do you really have a clue at all?  The prices will reflect this concept.  All that I feel when I look at the profiles, when I talk to the people, when I meet these total strangers, is ‘unattractive, clueless, indifferent, opposed to all that I believe and value.’  It’s true, I’ve talked to some nice people and some people who are similar-minded, and I know, it’s not EVERYONE (and yes, I even gave the URL of this blog to one of the people who was similar-minded and a nice person, and he’s not one of the ones that I’m complaining about).  But almost all of them are in a different universe than the one that I live in.  And it’s SO hard to reach them at all.

So let’s make it anonymous and impersonal.  It’s a business.  You won’t be getting any sex.  You already know that, because I wrote it on the profile.  You don’t have to worry about whether or not we’ll be having sex after the date.  You don’t have to ask yourself, ‘Should I kiss her now?’ because I wrote a rule that says:  No kissing.  The answer is no.  I warned you that the date would be boring, cold, and impersonal.  We’re running a business here.  I don’t love you, you don’t love me, and we probably never will, but if you insist, then yes, I’ll go out with you anyway.

I’m really fascinated with this idea that they have to BEG me to tell them more about myself.  It really does hurt to see that reaction over and over again:  I don’t care, I don’t understand, I don’t agree.  It hurts!  So I’m not going to talk about myself or the things I care about.  They have to beg for it.  And if they don’t like what they hear, oh well, they paid me to tell them, so it doesn’t hurt so much.  I ‘hurt’ them back, by taking their money.  You hurt me, I hurt you.  It’s painful for you to pay money to make me talk, and it’s painful for me to talk and see that nobody gives a shit.  At least I gained one small thing, a couple dollars, so that I can work fewer hours at my job.

I haven’t been able to bring myself to go out with anyone for free, yet.  There has been only one guy who I ever went out with from a dating website.  It was a professor from Penn State, and I met him on AdultFriendFinder.  We went to a coffee shop and talked for a little while.  I felt zero sexual attraction to him.  Our conversation was tense and didn’t have much momentum.  The conversation didn’t get energized and carry itself away.  It was a painful struggle.  But even so, this guy kept emailing me over and over for many months.  And I don’t mean he was spamming me – he only sent me an occasional email once in a while, out of the blue.  But why?  Why on earth would you want to endure my unwanted company over and over again?  Was the conversation really that great?  Do you need to be reminded that we had this painful strain and tension that never went away?  How can it be that I feel nothing for this person, but he somehow wants to keep seeing me over and over again anyway?  Can’t he tell that I feel nothing?  Can’t he see that I’m just talking like a robot and not really caring what I say?  Can’t he see that this is shallow and it’s not going any deeper anytime soon?  Can’t he see that we will never really care, and we will never really support each other?  I don’t understand why he would want to see me again.

After that guy – that was last year sometime, I think – or maybe it was in 2008 – after him, I never went out with any more people from the dating website.  I stopped using it, actually, and then in, what was it, 2009, summer, I met Curtis at work and focused all of my love on him, and wasn’t interested in dating other people, and ‘the voices’ discouraged me from going after anyone else, too.  So I really only went out on one date with one guy from a dating website, ever.

But now… I’ll go out with all of them.  That’s the nice thing about paying for a date, from someone who views it as her ‘job’ to go out on a date with you:  You’re guaranteed a ‘yes.’  You don’t have to worry about whether I’ll say yes to going on a date with you.  Of course I will!  It’s my job.

The repeat business concept… why?  Why would you do this again and again?  What do you really want to know about me?  Do you really care what I have to say, that much?  Do you really support me and my life?  If you don’t really care that much, you can keep on being just a plain old regular customer who never goes beyond the $10 an hour date.  (Or whatever my eventual price will be, after I get it worked out.)  You’re giving me money, and I appreciate it.  Thanks for helping me cut back my hours at my real jobs.  We don’t have to go any further than this if you don’t want to.

So I am curious to see how this will go.  Who comes back for a second date (and STILL doesn’t get any sex)?  Who wants to date me once a week every week (and still not have sex!)?  Who wants to ask me what I think, value, believe, and do?  Who cares?  We’ll find out who cares.

a handwritten note; dreams; random topics; electronic harassment – ultrasonic attacks

August 23, 2010

8:42 PM 8/23/10

curtis – no phone, nickname, note, dream
new tables?
watching movies – a substitute for socializing
feeling optimistic, which means sjw exposure
not trying to do online dating now
flat tire
new refrigerator
dreadlocks progress

I’m not sure if I have enough mental focus to write a blog today. I have a few different things to say. I could tell the dreams first. The dreams are always fun to write about. There were a couple of sexual dreams. This happened because I gave Curtis a handwritten note. I told him that I had texted him a bunch of times the other day. He was shocked and surprised. He didn’t get any of them, and he didn’t get the voice mail message I left either. ‘Maybe they shut my phone off already,’ he said, as though he had been using it up till now and thought it was okay. His phone is being shut off temporarily because he didn’t pay the bill this month. He hasn’t worked enough hours to make enough money. So that was why I decided to give him a handwritten note. He told me he also doesn’t have internet right now, so he’s not getting his emails.

I gave him a note which didn’t ask him to *do* anything specific. I told him, ‘Humor me,’ and handed him the note. ‘Don’t worry about it – it’s just a reminder,’ I said. In the note, I summed up all of the things which I’ve said to him again and again, many times, in various notes and text messages and emails that he hasn’t gotten. The note’s theme was, ‘I always say the same things.’ I always tell him that someone’s blocking my emails and phone calls, so I worry about how I will reach him if he, or I, leave our jobs for any reason. I always tell him that I want to be friends with him away from work, and that I’d like to be friends with him a long time, not just temporarily. Sometimes I tell him that I love him and that I want to touch him but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Later that day – after he probably read the note – I walked past him, while he was standing with a bunch of people, and he was watching me with big, big, wide eyes.  I don’t know whether that emotion was fear, excitement, shock, or whatever, he was just wide-eyed.  That is something I love about him, how his face, and his whole body, express his feelings in a dramatic, visible, obvious way.

He has always responded positively to my notes and to my touch. He keeps coming back and calling me pet names. He doesn’t avoid me or act grossed out. In fact, several times when I’ve given him notes in the past, the name-calling started happening even more than ever before. I looked at his girlfriend, and I decided, yes, I’m ugly, but she’s ugly too, and he’s marrying her. So he’s able to tolerate ugly girls.

Well, since I gave him that note, I had dreams that night. In the first dream, I was kissing a very little boy, a prepubescent child. I didn’t expect to kiss him. I was just leaning over close to him and he started kissing me, if I remember correctly. Then he started rubbing against me and he had an orgasm. It was sort of unrealistic. He ejaculated a clear liquid and it sprayed up between us. Then a voice said, ‘You didn’t expect him to get hard.’

Then there was another dream the next day, in the morning sometime. This was a ‘symbolic’ dream that the voices explained to me after they woke me up. It’s complicated, so I’ll just tell what happened and then explain the symbolic interpretation. My ex-boyfriend Eric and I went over to ‘John’s’ house (my brother). We were playing video games on his computer because I had a problem with my own computer at home. It was a role-playing game, something like dungeons and dragons. The character in the game was controlling an animal using magic. I couldn’t tell what the animal was, from the image, but the voices told me it was a goat. It was standing up on legs and walking, so it didn’t look like a normal goat – it must have been an anthropomorphic goat. That’s when they woke me up, and then they proudly explained to me the interpretation of their dream.

John (my brother) = I moved into John’s apartment because I was kicked out of my parents’ house, so John = Carrie, Curtis’s girlfriend, because Curtis moved into her house after getting kicked out of his parents’ house. John represents Carrie.

Eric represents me. Eric was my ‘older’ boyfriend. Now I’m the older one.

I was Curtis in the dream.

(Yes, every person was somebody other than themselves, in a different role.)

We were playing a ‘role playing game.’ Every person was in a new role this time. The game was a sexual game, and the animal was a goat – the goat represents a penis. I had to use this computer at my brother’s house, without asking his permission, because I had a computer problem at home – they told me that I would be on Curtis and Carrie’s bed (the ‘computer’), without Carrie’s permission, instead of my own bed, because I don’t really have a bed here at my apartment. And we were afraid that ‘John’ (Carrie) would find out that we were using this ‘computer’ (the bed) to play ‘role-playing games’ on. And the voices got even more complicated with their explanation, saying that I was controlling the goat without touching it, by magic. I’m not sure what that meant. I couldn’t see what the video game character was doing to magically control the goat, because that’s when they woke me up.

It’s complicated when I look at what I’ve written. My brother John was Carrie; I was Curtis; my older-than-me ex-boyfriend Eric was me.

Those dreams weren’t quite as cute as the furry black bull dream, but they were okay.


I can’t stand to do online dating right now. There is this inhibition stopping me.


My life seems to go nowhere, because the attackers constantly prevent me from thinking. I could meditate and get a perspective on my situation and quickly decide what is the best thing to do, and then do it. But I can’t do that. I get zapped every time I think. They were doing it the other day, and if it were possible to kill them, I would have done it that day. I was trying to think about finding a REAL husband, not a young guy who’s extremely attractive but can’t be reached and already has another girlfriend that he’ll be marrying. They kept forcing me to fall asleep *EVERY TIME* I tried to think about the real husband. Curtis isn’t going to be my husband. He is someone else’s husband. The most I could be is an extramarital affair, if that.

The nickname: He must have received the BAD text message (but not the good ones), because he acted like he’d gotten the message that I had sent him, telling him not to call me that name anymore. Then again, it might have also been because he called me the name in front of Stan, and I responded by acting hurt and then saying, in a slightly angry voice, ‘Yeah, THAT’S ME,’ and then walking away. Anyway, he either got the text message or he didn’t. Regardless, he changed what he was doing. He started calling EVERYONE the nickname, at least the adjective part of it. (I wrote a blog a week or two ago saying, pretend the nickname was ‘my fair-skinned beauty,’ and he started calling everyone ‘fair-skinned’. It’s like that. It’s an unusual adjective that you wouldn’t use in an everyday sentence.)

He saw me walk into the back room, where I went to write a department transfer, and he was drunk on Dayquil that day, since he had a bad cold. (It was so bad, he went to the hospital the next day. I don’t know how exactly he was sick, or why he needed to go to the hospital, but he did, and he said they gave him two shots, in his butt. He was limping the next day. What kind of shots do they give someone who has a cold? I hate mainstream medicine and its placebos.) So he was acting even more talkative and friendly than usual, being drunk on Dayquil, and when I went back to do the transfer, he said, ‘Is that my fair-skinned…. Orry? I thought you were fair-skinned Orry.’ (Yes, I’m substituting the adjective.) I said, ‘Yeah, he’s about the same size as me.’ (Orry is short and small, but I don’t find him attractive merely because of that. He’s not a competitor. I’m not helplessly attracted to *ALL* small guys.)

So whatever I did, I got him to start calling everybody the adjective. He might possibly not need to do that anymore. We sat together and talked a bit one day – I already wrote about that. Then he sat next to me again when I was on my lunch break and getting ready to go back in, and I stayed out there five minutes later than I was supposed to, because I decided that spending five extra minutes with him was more important than getting back to work on time. He is still being friendly to me, after all of this. He still acts trusting instead of afraid or ‘weirded out.’

I’m not being extremely aggressive or pushy. I’m not putting deadlines on it. I’m not directly asking him to go out with me at a specific time. (‘Go out’ is the wrong phrase to use. I don’t want to ‘go out’ with him. I want to spend time together with him, doing anything at all.) I’m just reminding him that I exist and that I care about him and that I want to continue being his friend even though I can’t reliably get emails or text messages or phone calls to him.


I had an extremely flat tire today. I had noticed it was getting flatter over the past few weeks. Today I checked it. It’s supposed to be 32 psi. It was 10! It was 1/3 of the pressure it was supposed to be. It was so flat, the sides were bulging out at the bottom. I’m lucky to be alive. It could have failed while I was driving down the highway and I would have gone straight into the oncoming lane. I refilled it, and I will keep an eye on it. If it keeps getting flat, I will have to get a new tire or something.

New refrigerator? I was talking to the maintenance guy today. He mentioned that an energy efficiency inspector would be coming over, and that we were all going to get new refrigerators for all the apartments, no matter what. That’s nice for me, because I still don’t feel safe using the fridge after the bone marrow vapors. There’s just a tiny bit left, and I don’t want to ruin any food or drinks I put in there.

Dreadlocks: I started the no-shampoo experiment in January, 2009. I wrote about it in this blog. My hair gradually formed natural dreadlocks. In the beginning, I had a couple of badly formed monster locks that were too big and in a bad position. They were pulling the hair in a bad way, and it hurt, and it was hard to lie down on that part of my head when I slept. Now, they have gradually moved and mellowed out a little bit, and they’re not really pulling anymore. Some of the roots connected to the monster locks have fallen out, so that the lock isn’t connected to as many roots as it was in the beginning. The locks are moving to different positions on the scalp, instead of staying in just one place. But I still have a bald spot on the right top side, where there is hardly any hair, and a big empty space in between the locks. It’s not ‘bald,’ it’s just thin.

Tables: I got rid of my tables that I had at the other apartment, because they were contaminated along with everything else. I am thinking of getting new ones and putting cardboard on them (so that it’s easy to clean up if they get contaminated again), and under them, so that I can set up my computer table and use it more easily to do computer projects and anything else.

Curtis said he’s been watching a lot of movies, since he’s disconnected from cable TV right now. I’ve been watching movies too. I rented Twilight – New Moon, and watched it again, and it didn’t suck as much, now that I understand what’s going on, and now that I’ve seen the first movie and read some of the first book. Movies are my substitute for socializing. I am not spending time with real people. I am watching imaginary people without having to interact with them, and they’re pretty to look at, and people have a real need to look at beautiful people. I think it’s natural to need to see beautiful people. That’s why I’m interested in Weston Price’s studies of the primitive diets and the facial deformities that make us ugly. We don’t have to be ugly. An ugly person can have beautiful children if they use the diet. That is what I am hoping to do.

I think I’ll post this now.

The murderers are enraging me while I wait for this blog page to load. I have been hit with St. John’s Wort recently and so they are able to trigger rage. My elbow is leaning on the cardboard box where my computer keyboard is, and the murderers are shooting sonic bullets, or whatever it is that they use, to slowly make the computer keyboard slip downwards under my elbow, a fraction of a millimeter at a time, over and over, while triggering the feeling of rage. I don’t know why they do the slips. It makes me want to kill them. AJH at knows about this. He has the same thing happen. Clicking, snapping noises on objects near me, and my body parts ‘slipping’ down against a surface, without moving at all, or slowly moving, when there is, in reality, enough friction to hold them still, and they shouldn’t be moving, and when it slips, it emits an extremely high-pitched, painful noise above the level of human hearing, but it’s audible enough to cause me physical pain, and rage. I usually hear voices at the same moment that it slips, or just afterwards. It’s like the sonic bullets are being used to ‘deliver’ the voices. Sometimes I think the sonic bullets are taking snapshots of an image, the image of me sitting here. Sometimes when they do this, I punch something and hurt my hand. I try not to do that, and it mostly happens if I’m having a St. John’s Wort reaction.

Raw milk, and a touch obsession

August 17, 2010

8:53 AM 8/17/10

I’ve been drinking lots of the Amish milk today and yesterday. It’s addictive and I am drinking one glass after another, as I haven’t had any breakfast yet. I have only a half gallon, and I am maybe 3/4 of the way through it, which is a good thing, because I don’t want it to spoil. I am cautious about it since it’s raw. It might possibly start to spoil faster than pasteurized milk. The only other raw milk I had was frozen goat’s milk, several years ago, from a little store called Stone Soup, and I don’t think I ever finished drinking the whole container of that milk.

It didn’t make me sick at my stomach. It didn’t give me that feeling of swelling in my upper right quadrant of my abdomen, where my liver is. That swollen liver-gallbladder feeling used to happen when I drank milk or ate any fatty foods, in 1999 when I was extremely sick for several months. However, it did give me a little bit of gas, but it’s a trivial amount and hardly noticeable, barely anything. I’m not lactose intolerant, but I thought I might be allergic to milk. I’m not having severe allergic reactions either, as I drink this raw cow’s milk.

I have had an occasional skin rash for a couple months now. It seems to happen at random times. It coincided with planting my little herb garden and eating the fresh herb leaves out of there. It also gets triggered by sitting on the metal table in the drive-thru at McDonald’s, which causes all of my legs and butt to start itching horribly – probably nickel. Peter’s been using some new drugs too, so I could be getting secondhand drug residues from him.

I have been having some rashes, at the same time as I’m drinking this milk, but it’s been inconsistent. I think that milk shouldn’t be put into a stainless steel container. Steel contains nickel, if I understand correctly. Or at least, some kinds of steel do. I think that some of the metal goes into the milk, and you can have allergic reactions to the metal, not the milk itself.

I am noticing more dyslexia as I’m typing. So I am having a Feingold-diet hyperactivity reaction to the milk, but it’s still mild. I’m making, and correcting, lots of typos and letter reversals as I type, more than usual. The attackers want me to think that they’re causing the typing problems, and yes, I know they’re *able* to cause those incidents to happen, but that doesn’t mean they’re causing all of them. The hyperactive foods might make people more vulnerable to that type of attack, and less able to automatically correct it as it happens. Foods and chemicals and drugs change how you’re affected by attacks.

I made a bunch of ‘about’ pages today for this blog. Those pages are probably going to be the most useful thing in the blog, because they are ‘static’, they stay there all the time, without changing, and people can find them easily. It’s harder to find a particular blog entry that you don’t remember the search terms for, if you happened to find that blog post through a google search or something. There are hundreds of posts going back two years to 2008, and I didn’t categorize them or anything. I wasn’t thinking ahead, wasn’t trying to get readers, and wasn’t planning on making a blog that was structured and easy to read and easy to search through. There is no index or table of contents for this blog. There is no particular order for the posts – they are about random things that I was thinking about, or things that happened that day, or things the voices wanted me to write about that day. I could put up a tag cloud, but that wouldn’t be very useful, because almost every single post is tagged ‘mind control,’ for instance. And I’m not very conscious of HOW I choose what tags to use, and sometimes I don’t use them at all.

A social observer. In order to be that, I would have to socialize. They still want me to be a prostitute, so that I can ‘socialize’ the way I did in the dream a few days ago.

There are some ways that it would be nice to be a prostitute. I would get paid more dollars per hour than I do at my ‘real’ job. If I had several regular clients who I would see again and again, we could establish trust, so that I wouldn’t be afraid that they were a serial killer, rapist, or thief. I would have some control over the hours I worked and when I worked and how I worked.

I already know a lot of ways that it *wouldn’t* be nice to be a prostitute. I’m disgusted by a lot of men. I’m chemical sensitive, so I don’t like deodorants or perfumes. I react to other people’s drugs, so anybody using drugs would give me secondhand drug residues. I might even become addicted to a dangerous drug just by skin absorption, from being around a drug user.

Also, I still feel bonded to Curtis, and ‘they’ make me believe that he’s jealous if I see other men. I don’t know whether that’s true or not, but it’s what they make me believe.

My bond with Peter: Peter really doesn’t know much about my day-to-day life or what I’m experiencing, or what I care about, or think about, or know about. We can’t talk very well. He always interrupts me after a couple words, because his blood sugar is always either too high, or too low, or he’s on drugs, so he’s always uncomfortable and impatient and unable to relax and empathize. When you’re sick and in pain all the time, it’s impossible to listen to other people and understand their problems and their lives and the things they care about. And I always want to give him advice about how he should take care of his medical problems, but my advice is always impossibly expensive, so I don’t even try anymore to say any of it to him. (‘You need to totally change your entire diet; don’t EVER use any artificial sweeteners, stop drinking soda, stop eating junk food, eat more fat (but it has to be fresh, non-rancid, animal fat), eat whole foods…’ ‘To cure your insomnia, you need to get rid of all of your furniture and clothing that has drug residues on it’ (especially now that he’s gotten some of the drug residues from my car, which contain ephedra). All of my advice is impossibly expensive to follow. That’s why I want a religious group that will make a place where it’s easy to follow my rules, because the whole environment, a whole building to live in, is designed to make it easy to live that way. Like a monastery or a retreat. I like thinking of Bill Gates saying ‘A PC on every desktop,’ and I say, ‘A retmeishka monastery in every town.’ This is when the voices are talking to me about making a religious order.)

So Peter really doesn’t listen to me all that much. He always gets defensive and argues after I’ve only spoken a couple words of my opinion or advice. And he can’t really listen if I talk about my dreams and hopes and desires. He can only feel his own pain.

My bond with Curtis got stronger again, and I started to feel hopeful about it again, just because I sat with him and had a conversation the other day. Now, I feel like there’s no need to go back to the dating website, or go looking for new friends, or try to start a community.

And yesterday, the attackers were stopping me from thinking about it – they attacked me over and over again, making me fall asleep every time I tried to think about getting a husband. I need some way to support myself while I raise my children, and I can’t carry my children with me to the workplace, because our society doesn’t allow that, although I think they should.

So I am thinking about how to get a husband for a loveless practical marriage. I imagine it to be a loveless practical marriage because I’m not strongly attracted to adult men. My most intense sexual attraction is for teenage boys. I would have a lukewarm sexual desire for my adult husband.

This was true when I was with Eric, who was, I think, 35 when I met him? I didn’t have an intense, passionate sexual love for him. I always felt like something was missing. (This is literal, too: something is missing – he was circumcised. I hate circumcision. I believe that sex, and bonding, and relationships, would all be very different if people weren’t circumcised in the USA.) We had sex, and we enjoyed the sex, but I felt like I needed to have a crush on some other guy, to feel more passion and more intensity. And Eric and I fought about things, and couldn’t talk about certain subjects, which was one of the reasons why we eventually stopped seeing each other. He couldn’t stand to hear about the hackers or the mind control, and he would go into a screaming freak-out tantrum if I mentioned any of it.

And he was jealous because he believed that I loved John DiMoia more than him (Nerdman, from the chatroom, the guy who stopped answering my emails, and right at the same time, I started having computer hacking problems and online harassment, so I thought it was him, but actually it could have been anyone). I was being forced, by mind control, to keep writing emails to John DiMoia. I had never met him, I’ve never seen a photograph of him, I don’t know what he looks like except that he’s Italian and going bald, which is all the he told me in the chatroom. So it was ridiculous to think that I had any ‘real’ feeling for a real person. I was being forced to obsess about him. I would try to explain that to Eric, but he wouldn’t listen to any of it.

That’s different from my crushes on Martin and Curtis. They are real people who I’ve met and talked to in the real world. I could see that they were physically attractive, I could touch them, talk to them, be close to them. My attraction to both of them is real. But the things that I *do* to them, such as sending a particular email about a particular subject on a particular day, are forced by mind control. I am forced to say the particular words I say to Curtis and I said to Martin back when I was emailing him. I usually disagree about whether it’s a good idea to say these words, or to use this approach. The attackers almost always use ‘verbal attacks’ which I’ve been reading about in my book, ‘The Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense.’ Almost everything they say and do is meant to make someone feel guilty, ashamed, inferior, or some other negative feeling, so I disagree that I should say those things. I think it’s harmful to talk that way.

So I hate the things I’m forced to say to them. And I hate it that I can’t tell the truth, make my own observations, speak my own words, tell them something that I just noticed that minute, ask them questions, listen to what they’re saying and respond to it – I can’t do those things, because my words are puppet words, written by an attacker. Many of my words are pre-recorded phrases coming from an artificial intelligence, which senses what’s going on and gives me a fake scripted response to that situation.

But the intense sexual attraction is real.

I rented ‘Twilight’ last night. I’ve started reading the book, but I haven’t finished it yet. I actually first saw the second movie, then the third, and now the first. I thought the second movie sucked, but I gave it a chance. The third movie kind of sucked, too, but I gave it a chance again. Then I watched the first movie… and the FIRST movie was REALLY GOOD! The second and third movies had that sloppy, careless, hasty, get-it-done-in-a-hurry, ‘sequel’ feeling to them. I knew that the books were probably better.

I can’t explain how the second and third movies sucked. I can explain it a little bit with the Harry Potter movies: The best Harry Potter movie of all time was The Prisoner of Azkaban, because it was done by a different director, or producer, or whatever, and it has a totally different style than the other movies. Things like background music and lighting. I’m not getting into that right now because it’s a long subject. But it’s those kind of things that made the second and third Twilight movies suck more than the first one. The first movie was good on its own, as a stand-alone movie.

Edward is ‘cold’ and ‘untouchable.’ If he becomes sexually aroused, if he gets too close to Bella, something terrible will happen. This mirrors her relationship with her father. It’s taboo to admit that you feel sexually aroused when you hug your daughter and have your arms around her. (This is why I like to read about bonobo apes. They make everything okay.) So some fathers solve the problem by not touching their daughters at all. My father couldn’t touch me when I was a little baby, but they say it was because I was hyperactive and almost autistic, and I would scream, cry, and pull away when people touched me. But I grew up not being touched by my father very much, even when I was older. So I can relate to how Bella feels, when she loves her father but they’re afraid to touch each other. And I can see it with Edward, too, how they can’t touch each other much, but they desperately want to.

I’m going through that right now with Curtis. I want more than anything to touch him, but the slightest touch is extremely intense, full of anxiety and terror. I don’t know if I’ll be rejected or pushed away. I don’t know if he’ll say that I’m sexually harassing him, even if I touch him in a small way, like a tap on the arm. But even just a tiny tap on the arm is a big, huge deal to me. The slightest touch is extremely intense. If I’ve had a reaction to some of my drug residues, my emotions are amplified so much that I feel almost orgasmic if I merely catch his eye across the room. I’ll start breathing heavily and I make a sort of gagging motion in my throat, the way you almost gag if you’re masturbating and you delay orgasm as long as you can. (Again, this tends to happen if I’m having a drug reaction. In my drug-free state it doesn’t happen like that.)

I know this because it happened the other day. I had recently told him, in a text message, not to call me his nicknames anymore, because it makes me feel like he loves me, it makes me feel like I’m special to him, but at other times he seems to reject me, and he has a girlfriend whom he’ll be marrying, and I’m trying not to ‘sexually harass’ him, or violate his lack of consent. And we haven’t been looking at each other, except from far across the room.

But I glanced at him, when we hadn’t looked at each other all day. I looked up at him as he came in the door. It was wonderful to look in his eyes for a second. A minute later, he came over to me and the couple of other women working in the deli, and he was moving a shelf into the room next to us, and he said, ‘hello, my [adjective] deli workers – I’m putting this banana rack over there,’ and we said okay. He addressed it to all three of us, as though all of us were [adjective]. The adjective is the first part of the nickname, which I’m keeping censored because it’s kind of like a security question, like ‘What is your mother’s maiden name?’ and that kind of thing.

The nickname is a secret. The adjective is an unusual word that nobody would ever use in an ordinary sentence, so I knew he said it because I was there and I’d told him not to call me the nickname. I’m trying to think of an example so you can imagine this. It isn’t a commonly used word that you would say to a group of people. ‘The voices’ suggested a phrase, but I don’t like to take their suggestions, because it almost always means something that I don’t want to say. They suggested that I give the example like this: what if the nickname was ‘my fair-skinned beauty,’ or something, and yes, I know that sounds silly, but it’s just an example. It would be like he walked up to us in a group of three women and said, ‘my fair-skinned deli workers.’ It was unusual to say.

As he walked away, I saw his face, and he had a slightly nauseated, disgusted look, which was also a sexually excited look. I’ve seen him do a sideways smile, kind of a leer, if I’ve looked at him too intensely in a sexual way, and also, he sometimes looks sick. You’re going to laugh at this, but it reminds me of the horses. I’ve seen horses in photographs, or a video, where the stallion smelled the urine of a mare in heat, and he responded by sneering his lips up into a snarl that showed all his teeth. It was a funny expression. The horse lifted his lips up like that again and again when he smelled the urine. I’ve seen Curtis do horse-like gestures sometimes. And that was the look on his face – it wasn’t a sneer or a leer or a snarl, he didn’t really expose his teeth very much, but it was just the faintest suggestion of being sickened and aroused at the same time. That sick-aroused feeling is different depending on who triggers it. If a sexually disgusting person triggers it, it feels like you’ve been violated, molested, raped, or had some other sexually unpleasant experience. If a sexually attractive person triggers it, that same feeling is pleasant and arousing and extremely exciting, and you want to complete it by having an orgasm.

There was another incident when he strongly reminded me of a horse. It was when I went back into his department to do a department transfer. I had to get some items from produce to use in food service. I went back to write it on the paper. I got the paper off the wall and started writing. He came over to me and stood very close to me, watching silently while I wrote, with his chest open and exposed and radiating heat. He was that close. I could feel the heat of his body. I looked at him, and I reached up with my hand, up to his chest, just under his chin. I was going to gently touch his chest with the back of my hand.

But I startled him. He couldn’t see my hand, he shook his head and then lifted his head back to look at my hand just under his chin. He took a step back. I hadn’t touched him, I had been very close but not touching. He probably thought that I was going to hurt him, that I had a knife in my hand or something – he’s said things like that to me before, that he was afraid I was going to stab him. (I read his facebook page and he had done a fortune-telling app, many months ago, where the fortune predicted that he would die being stabbed by a soulmate.)

In that previous incident, the reason he was afraid I was going to stab him was because I was about to tell him he did something wrong, but I couldn’t bear to tell it to him, because I didn’t want to talk down to him. Somebody had taken the soups out of the soup cookers, and put them out for the customers, without turning off the soup cookers. If you leave the cookers on, empty, they will overheat and break. I’ve seen it happen. So I had to tell him he did something wrong, and I had to explain it, but I could barely speak to him, and I said, ‘come over here for a second,’ while I was standing in a narrow, enclosed place inside the salad bar area, where he couldn’t really see me. He was afraid to come over to me, and he just stood there. I was giving ‘anxious’ body language, anxious, reluctant, terrified, and unable to speak, so he reflected my anxiety without knowing what was wrong. I asked him if he had taken out the soups, and I explained that they had to be turned off. He was relieved that it was something so silly and unimportant, after all that anxiety. ‘I thought you were going to stab me,’ he said.

So when I reached for his chest he might have thought the same thing. It surprised him. And a horse will react exactly that same way, if it’s a distrusting horse, if it’s ever been attacked or abused, or if it’s just a high-strung horse that gets startled easily. If you reach up under a horse’s head, it can’t see your hand very well, and it will lift its head up and back to look at your hand. He looked exactly like that.

I tried to think of a horse-related nickname, something that would be a compliment, something beautiful, like ‘wild stallion,’ but that wasn’t easy to say and didn’t feel natural. His nicknames are beautiful compliments, so I tried to follow the same rules he was using. I thought of synonyms for horse and some variations on the name, but didn’t think of one that would be natural for me to say.

I can’t say any nicknames to him other than ‘hey you.’ That’s the closest I can come to a nickname. ‘We were thous’ – a line from Shakespeare – we were ‘thou’ to each other, but you betrayed me – I think it might be Julius Caesar who says it to Brutus, but I’m not sure, it could be anyone. That’s where I first learned that the word ‘you’ (thou) in English is something intimate, that you don’t carelessly use the word ‘you’ to someone in a formal situation, and that using the word ‘you’ too much can be a form of unwanted sexual harassment, which I’ve experienced before. I’ve had guys attracted to me who kept saying ‘you this, you that,’ and being focused entirely on me, too much, and I didn’t like it. I said ‘hey you’ to him when I first saw him the other day, when he first told me that the store manager was bothering him, when I asked him if he had sent the text message saying to leave him alone. ‘Hey you’ meant, ‘you disrespected me, so I’ll disrespect you.’ I had to attack him verbally because I was terrified to approach him. ‘Hey you’ was the best way I could think of to call out to him when I was terrified to speak to him, and feeling hurt and rejected.

I got started on all of that subject because I said that his sexually aroused facial expressions reminded me of the ‘disgusted’ look that a stallion makes when it smells the urine of a mare in heat.

That evening, or maybe a day or two later, I sent him an email saying it was okay for him to call me the nickname if he wanted to. But I don’t know if he has an internet connection right now, and if he can get his email.

I hesitate to call him at home. His wife-to-be is there. She will hear that he’s on the phone talking to someone, and they might get into a fight. I’m not trying to cause a fight between them, but I want to talk to him. I’ve had two phone conversations with him. And I’ve had a brief conversation in which I told him I would leave him a message because he was at work and I didn’t want him to talk on the phone while he was at work.

I’ve emailed her before, a couple times, and I mentioned that he seemed to be ‘leading me on.’ She said that he has a way of making women feel special and that I should ‘take it as a joke.’ But I can’t take it as a joke. Everything I feel with him is serious.

This is why I can relate to it when I see Bella and Edward together, unable to touch each other, but desperately wanting to, and afraid that something bad will happen, some rule will be broken, someone will get hurt, some consent will be violated, I will be an evil monster – all of those things will happen if we touch each other and let go and do whatever we want. That is how I feel with him.

I know it sounds strange, but I can read his body language from far across the room. I can’t read other people’s body language that easily, or I don’t care to. It’s the opposite of Edward not being able to read Bella. Edward can read everyone else but her. I am able to read every nuance of Curtis’s feelings by a quick glance at him from a long distance across the room. I can read his back. His back tells me how he’s feeling. The change in the angle, the position, the neck, the shoulders – I can see his tiredness, his loneliness, his ‘I’m turning my back on you,’ (which I myself did to him the other day, so I know how it feels to do that), – and he hasn’t actually turned his back on me very often, but sometimes, every now and then, he has. When we’re not looking at each other. I can see it in his back when he feels small and vulnerable and needy. When he looks even smaller than usual. I saw him blushing after I gave him the note – and told him *NOT* to read it right now – where I told him I was attracted to him. The position of his neck, and his blushing face and his ears, told me how he felt, all the way across the room. The way he moves when he walks.

One time, his back said ‘touch me.’ I had touched his back several times during a period of weeks or months when we were together a lot in the evenings, alone. One time I stroked his back gently because he offered to carry something for me, instead of letting me carry it, because I was sick that day, and I walked behind him through the doors to go back to take out the trash.

It was sometime after that. He stood close in front of me, not far from me, and the shape of his back said he wanted me to stroke his back again. … And I didn’t. I didn’t do it. I was terrified, and I wasn’t on the right drugs, probably, and I didn’t want to sexually harass him or violate his consent. Because if I stroked him, I wouldn’t want to stop. That’s the same thing Edward is afraid of – if I start, I won’t be able to stop, and something bad will happen and I’ll hurt you. I wanted to walk up close behind him and put both hands on his back and press against him from behind. I wanted to cup his shoulders in my hands and press my face against his back. I wanted to reach around him and stroke his chest and his belly. He stood right in front of me and his back seemed to invite me to touch him. And I don’t want to violate him, or I’ll get rejected and hurt very badly.

I’m obsessing about guys, love, sex, and touch, because I haven’t eaten breakfast. So I should go eat something. This obsession will go on and on forever, until I eat something. I will always think of one more incident to tell about. So… I’ll go do that.

LOL, I tagged this post ‘curtis.’  As if that will be a useful tag.  Anybody randomly searching for the name ‘curtis’ will find this blog.

Amish milk, and a fistful of glitter, and my butt’s fat again

August 16, 2010

7:19 PM 8/16/10

(*This is a very disorganized post, with several different subjects.  I’m probably already suffering from ADD from drinking milk, and from quitting coffee.  I started on a couple subjects, wandered to something else, and never really finished all the things I had meant to talk about… and by the time I was done, I didn’t care whether I wrote about all those things or not.  So if you feel like I went on a tangent and never came back, you’re right.*)

Why did my butt get fat this month?

changes in drug residues
one tiny sip of milk wasn’t enough? maybe it is. maybe one tiny sip causes ovulation later on
but i’m drinking amish milk today and it goes to my butt and breasts instantly; i’ll look like i looked in college; i lost my college weight by quitting whole milk
milk is addictive; as soon as i’ve had one glass, i start craving more later on
i ovulated much more than usual this month for unknown reasons
peter’s wellbutrin – maybe wellbutrin triggers ovulation
peter’s other new drugs
put vinyl on my car seat, which means i withdrew from sjw; the withdrawal can cause weight gain

I had been wondering where I could buy raw milk.

The milk I get at the grocery stores usually is sour when I buy it. I think it’s held at warm temperatures during shipping and handling. It usually makes me sick at my stomach. Even the Meyer Dairy milk made me sick, although it tasted fresh. So I wanted to try fresh raw milk.

I saw a sign near the town of Howard when I was out driving my car. It was next to a little farm, and at the time, I didn’t know it was an Amish farm. It said they had fresh raw milk for sale.

A couple weeks ago I finally went there. I drove up the gravel road and saw an Amish man working on fixing something next to the driveway, some wooden thing. I stopped my car and asked him where I could buy the milk, and whether this was a bad time. He told me it was up the hill at the barn, right where they were milking, and he said it was a good time.

After I drove up, a little boy opened the door of the barn. He might have been about seven years old – I’m not sure if I can guess someone’s age very well. He asked me if he could help me with anything. We’d never seen each other before, so it was awkward and anxious for both of us. I was on drugs at the time, I think, so I might have had more intense feelings than usual.

I bought a half gallon of milk for $1.50, and got a free little pint of mint tea, which was very good. A half gallon is too much for me, but that was the smallest size.

When he said goodbye to me, he gave me a polite smile that wasn’t really a smile.

I only tried a small sip of it. I wasn’t sure if it would agree with my stomach. I haven’t had milk to drink in years, although I eat cheese and I drink milkshakes. I had some problems with milk a few years ago and stopped drinking it. But if it’s very fresh, I might be able to – that was the idea. I tried only a sip, and never finished the half gallon, and I left it in the fridge for days and days and it spoiled.

This time when I drove up and he asked if he could help me, and I wondered if I could buy some milk, he smiled and he was more relaxed and genuine. He recognized me from the last time I was there. He opened the door and he was barefoot. ‘We have cheese now,’ he said. They had made all different kinds of cheese. I kneeled down and got in the fridge, which was right in the doorway of the barn, while he held the door open. I got a block of Swiss cheese along with my milk and my jug of tea. I thanked him and said I had enjoyed the mint tea last time. He told me they have a concentrate of it, and he opened the freezer door – all you have to do is mix it with water. I didn’t buy that, because I don’t have a container to put it in, but I might next time I’m there.

I thanked him again.

The feeling I had for this little boy was, ‘I love you. I would do anything for you. I’ll stay with you and I won’t ever leave you.’

I don’t have any children. I’m not used to the feelings that children can give you. Children are supposed to make you feel that way.

I’ve seen hyperactive children, tortured by the poisons of modern society. I was one of them before I got on the Feingold Diet. I see them at McDonald’s. A mother was fighting with her son who was having a tantrum as they were leaving. He was screaming and crying. I felt a terrible feeling: ‘I hate you. I loathe you. You disgust me.’ I know it’s not really me that feels that way. I felt sorry for the kid. It was the way he was crying, screaming, and begging his mom to let him keep playing, to not punish him, he promised he wouldn’t do it again, PLEASE, I PROMISE, crying and screaming – he HATED himself, I could feel it by listening to him. He hated himself, he loathed himself.

I feel like I would almost marry an Amish man. I am close to being Amish myself in many ways. There are some differences. But I would like to learn how they work. I want to learn how to make a profit on a farm when you aren’t using motor-driven tractors or electricity. (They use gas-powered appliances, though – the refrigerator had to be. I’d like to avoid using fossil fuel appliances because I get sick from their fumes.)

I’m different from the Amish because I’m not Christian and I don’t think I ever could be. That is the reason for the order of retmeishka.

But I feel that Amish society is closer to being a healthy society than ‘English’ society. It gives me a model of how things can be, of how a religion can be. I have more respect for the Amish than I do for most English people.

I might find out that I’m too allergic to milk to keep on drinking it; this is only an experiment. I might find that it makes me too fat too quickly, and I’m not exercising enough to burn off the fat. I might find that I’m getting rashes or having other problems. I might find that it’s making me hyperactive or ADD. I’m not sure yet how I’ll react to drinking a lot of it. I don’t have a scale in my bathroom right now, so I can’t watch the changes in my weight.

I got a fat butt this month, out of nowhere, for no reason. I wasn’t aware of changing my diet. I just suddenly got a very fat butt. I ate McDonald’s food a few more times than usual. I was exposed to Peter’s Wellbutrin and have been contaminated with it several times. I patched up something that was toxic and was exposing me to St. John’s Wort residues, my car seat. All of those things have caused me to have weight changes in the past, and it’s always my big butt that I notice first.

It might go away next month, or it might not. If I’m successful at drinking milk, I will probably gain ten or fifteen more pounds, and I’m not used to that. I weighed 145 in college, when I was eating in the cafeteria and drinking several glasses of whole milk every day. I stopped drinking the whole milk, switched to skim, and immediately lost the weight very quickly. I also started taking walks, but I was always taking walks, so that probably didn’t explain it – I can’t remember when I was walking more and when I was walking less.

So whole milk makes you get fat very quickly. That’s all I know. I’m drinking it because of the Weston Price diet, wondering if it will affect my teeth. I’ve had painful teeth for the past few weeks. Bruxism from St. John’s Wort exposure and Wellbutrin exposure – those drugs both make me clench my teeth. I think that’s why they’re hurting more than usual.

I can’t believe this – I just drank a small glass of milk, then another one, and now I’m craving another one. I can’t believe how much of it I want to drink. It’s really addictive. Now, these are small glasses – less than eight ounces, I think – I’m not sure. Little plastic cups. I’ll just drink as much as I crave, and this will be an experiment. I will probably get very fat very quickly. I’ll have to buy a scale at Wal-Mart.

There is a sarcastic voice in my head, and I know it’s not me, but it says, maybe if I get fat, Curtis will love me. Ha ha. He’s dating a girl who looks so much like his mother, from a distance, that the first time I saw her, I thought that’s who she was. She is about the same height and weight. ‘Pleasantly plump,’ and insecure about her weight, as some people have made fun of her and called her ‘hippo,’ even though she’s not really that fat. She will probably lose weight as I think she’s moved out of her parents’ house – that usually makes people lose weight. Her diet will change and so will her environmental illnesses, whatever drug residues, mold, and anything else might be making people sick in her family’s house, if anything is there. She will probably be thin after a while. She’s going to be a nurse, a CNA, she said on facebook. She’s not using facebook at all anymore, and neither is Curtis – I’m thinking maybe they moved into their own place and they don’t have an internet connection at all right now. They don’t need to socialize – they have each other. They’re getting married.

I talked to him Sunday afternoon when we were both leaving, but we didn’t get deep enough into our conversation. I haven’t been able to look at him for several weeks, or just barely. I haven’t been able to talk to him either, and have had few opportunities. He called out to me as I was walking to my car to leave, and I couldn’t really hear him, so I said, ‘what?’ and looked past the bushes that were blocking my view, and I could see him sitting on the sidewalk waiting for Carrie to pick him up. I walked over to him because I couldn’t hear if he was calling for me to come over, or what. I got there, and sat down next to him, and he said, ‘I was just saying goodbye.’ But I sat there while he smoked. I didn’t leave. I felt that I probably should leave.

I had asked him earlier that day, ‘Do you remember telling me to leave you alone?’ (In a text message, after I had sent him a very long text message.) He said, ‘Yes – as friends?’ I didn’t really understand that, and I started to cry, so I quickly walked away and I said, ‘I had to find out whether it was really from you. You know why.’ (Because of the hackers and the possibility that someone would be writing things to hurt me that weren’t really from him.) I walked away, made it into the deli without crying, and then tried to go back to doing my job, but I couldn’t, not for a minute, so I went into the back room of the deli, and I suppressed the sobbing in my throat, and then the tears started coming out. I cried for a minute, but not long, and then I was able to get back to work. I felt depressed and sick for several hours. I was affected by drug residues, but for right now, I will probably keep on being affected by various drugs, because I can’t get away from them at the moment, so my feelings will be more intense and they will vary from day to day, with my mood swings.

When I sat next to him on the sidewalk I still remembered that I was leaving him alone. I wouldn’t look directly at him, because looking at him is too intense. He is beautiful to me. I love to look into his eyes. I would love to touch him. So I looked at anything but him, and I sat there, cold and serious, talking to him like a ‘friend.’ We mostly talked about my work schedule, about how many hours I was getting at my two jobs right now. And he said that his life sucked, and every time it seemed like things were going okay, something else bad would happen and mess things up even more. I wanted to know what was going on, but there wasn’t enough time to talk deeply. Carrie was on the way. And he asked me how I was doing, and I said, ‘It’s a long story.’ ‘I’ve got time,’ he said, and I made a bitter smile, but said nothing. You don’t have THIS MUCH time. I would love to tell you. But it’s boring and depressing, and nobody understands it but me. For a chronic-fatigued person, most of my life is what happens in the world of my reading and writing on the computer, and the thoughts that I’m thinking while I lie in bed talking to the voices. That is my life. Nothing is really ‘happening.’ But I would tell you if I had a moment or two to relax. I would tell you a little bit of it. If I could find one tiny bit of hopefulness or something positive in it, I would tell you. I don’t want to tell it to you while it’s still hopeless and going nowhere. There’s nothing you can do.

He told me that the store manager was bullying him – and I use the word ‘bullying’ because I read an online article about bullying today. Curtis himself didn’t use that word. He just said that the store manager was talking to him and doing things to him that made him angry and he was sick of it. I’ve heard the way he talks to him. Curtis said that the store manager asked Brandon, ‘Is Curtis texting?’ right after Brandon himself had been texting. Curtis got in trouble for doing something that the department manager had been doing. He was walking around with him telling him what to do and talking to him like a child – I heard him. He said, ‘CURTIIIIS…..’ in a threatening tone the way you threaten a dog or a child with your voice. He isn’t a child. He’s a nineteen year old who looks like a young teenager because he has fetal alcohol syndrome, which causes him to be very small. (And that is why a hebephile like myself is so attracted to him.) So you have to talk to him with respect.

It wasn’t long, only a couple minutes, that we sat coldly next to each other with a space in between us, not looking directly at each other, talking about things that weren’t really deep.

I asked him, ‘How did you and Carrie meet each other?’ This was something I had wondered for a long time. ‘At a party,’ he said, and he said nothing else about that.

There are things I want to know. The voices in my head were wondering these things when I was bored at work that day, when I had nothing to do because I was working in the front part of the deli department and we had no customers, so we just stood there, and I stared at things, while standing next to Mary. I had asked Mary how she met her husband. And I wanted to ask, ‘What do you think about when you have nothing to do?’ Do you stare at the images? Do you contemplate them? Are they beautiful when you contemplate them?  I can’t meditate or contemplate because of the zapping – every few seconds, my brain and body get a jolt that wakes me up. I can’t focus my mind in the special way that makes you feel flow, the feeling of enjoyment you get from focusing deeply on something. But I didn’t ask her that.

And the voices wanted me to ask her if she had ever had a broken heart. I didn’t ask that either.

And I wondered if I was the only person who had ever felt this way, because it felt like I was alone in pain. Having a broken heart – it seems like I’m the only one who’s ever experienced this. My broken heart is mine and only mine, and no one else knows what it’s like. There are universal feelings that other people feel, even people you dislike, people who have nothing in common with you. They get broken hearts too and it hurts them the same way. So I wondered if anyone else on earth had ever had a broken heart.

I heard ‘glitter in the air’ on the way home. That might have been a puppet incident, I don’t know, but it was an appropriate song. Have you ever…? Have you ever done this, or felt this way? Have you ever experienced this?

I didn’t get to ask Curtis those questions. We talked about my work schedule. He said he would have a couple days off. Then Carrie showed up and he left.

He said, ‘It was nice talking to you.’

Then I went to my car and got ready to go to work at McDonald’s.

I’m working in the mornings. I’ll see him more often. Just having him there near me makes me feel good, even if we don’t get to talk. It’s not like it used to be, when he worked evenings, alone, and he often came over and chatted for many minutes (when he wasn’t supposed to). Or he’d ask for my help. It didn’t matter what we did, we were spending time together, and sometimes I was able to open up and tell him things. He doesn’t work evenings anymore. That’s probably best. It’s hard for him to get all the work done when he’s alone in the evenings, but in the day, he has other people there, and they can make sure he gets his work done. It’s easier when other people are around. I don’t want him to lose his job. And the way the store manager has been bugging him lately, he is at risk, especially if something happens, like an unexcused call-off. If he leaves, it will break my heart – I will grieve, I will get over it – but I will feel like there’s no reason for me to work there anymore. I don’t love anyone there the way I love him. I don’t look forward to anything but him.

How am I different?

August 16, 2010

How am I different from other bloggers talking about mind control and electronic harassment? How am I different from other websites about this subject? How am I different from sites talking about electromagnetic hypersensitivity?

How are we alike?


1. less disorganized and rambling than, for instance, Eleanor White
2. less angry
3. not suffering as badly as some, for instance, aussietargetted
4. not advocating government force
5. libertarian, objectivist, ‘simonist’, having strong belief systems that are non-mainstream but still respected
6. having an idea of what to do about it
7. less technical than Eleanor White or or some sites listed by AJH (tiworld)
8. not ‘spiritual’ voices that I hear, not paranormal
9. knowledge of skin poisoning and drug residues, and how they affect your response to being attacked, and how they affect moods and behavior and health
10. not all symptoms are directly caused by attacks, although the attackers may be capable of causing those symptoms
11. not as upset, not as afraid or scared, as some sites


1. nothing useful has actually been done
2. still mostly focused on suffering
3. common experiences similar to, for instance,
4. the belief that something is wrong with the world, and the mainstream doesn’t know about it or is forbidden to talk about it


1. Use the lingo of the target audience. Use the ‘Voldemort is real’ or ‘He’s back’ concept, for instance, when talking to Harry Potter fans. Use ‘John Galt’, ‘Galt’s Gulch,’ etc when talking to Objectivists. Learn the lingo, don’t reject it, don’t make fun of it. Accept it and use it to mean something similar to your own beliefs. Show them that you have this belief in common, although it goes by a different name. Each belief cluster has its own lingo. ‘SHTF’ is ‘shit hits the fan,’ one of the acronyms of the survivalists. Learn these words, acronyms, story characters, and so on. Respect the groups, do not have contempt for them, do not talk down to them. Each belief, each character, each word and phrase, is meaningful to them and important to them. They all feel like this special phrase or idea is theirs alone. The beliefs all have in common: ‘Something is wrong with the world, and the mainstream isn’t aware of it.’ This is common through all the belief clusters I want to target. It isn’t on TV, it isn’t being taught in our public schools, it’s taboo to talk about it in a social situation, and so on.

2. Some of my belief clusters include, but are not limited to: breastfeeding, anti-circumcision, natural childbirth, attachment parenting, Weston Price diet, Feingold Diet, adoption, survivalist, self-reliance, home business, homeschooling, anti-fiat money (or ‘real money’ or ‘free market banking’), objectivist, libertarian, anarchist, julian simon (find others similar to those = many others may not be your enemies), intentional communities, touch deprivation, nudism, drug-free, long hair and natural hair

3. What are ‘belief clusters?’ Belief clusters are groups of beliefs and practices that tend to be found together on the internet. If you go to a web page of someone who has one of the beliefs, they tend to link to other pages that have some of the other beliefs. Each belief group leads to other belief groups. One example: Libertarians usually list Ayn Rand as one of their favorite authors. But you’re not likely to find certain belief clusters side by side on the same web page. You wouldn’t find a person advocating circumcision and also opposing circumcision on the same page, although you might find some links to pages advocating circumcision if somebody is arguing or explaining both points of view. I’m talking about someone who actually HOLDS that belief, not just linking to a page to argue or explain something.

I thought it was interesting that one of the Objectivist websites was advocating war in Iraq and Afghanistan. It was based on the concept of ‘War on evil ideas.’ The idea is, we can kill Muslims because they have evil ideas. Everyone in that religion has this evil idea, so we have to go kill them to stop the evil idea virus from taking over the world. So I was surprised to find pro-war and Objectivism linking together. I think it was TOC, The Objectivist Center, but I’m not sure, and I’d have to look again.

4. Which belief clusters might go together? Some examples.

People who believe in attachment parenting might be more likely to believe that something is wrong with society, and they might explain it by referring to their own beliefs about how children are raised. Something is wrong with society because children aren’t raised right; that’s why there are so many social problems today.

People who like long hair on men might be more aware of gender roles in society, how men are expected to look and behave, and they might tend to be more aware that there is ‘something wrong with society’ because of this. These people won’t be strongly in favor of men going into traditional roles, because in our culture, the traditional man is a short-haired man. If they come from some other cultural background where long-haired men are traditional, then of course they might have traditional beliefs.

(I want retmeishka to *BE* the new tradition (within our group). In retmeishka, the long-haired bearded man is a normal, traditional man. Short hair is a rebellion against retmeishka, or a sign that you are an outsider or from another tribe. And I’m not joking about ‘The Rainbow Mohawk Tribe.’ The rainbow mohawk tribe is the group of people who are bored with traditional hairstyles and jewelry and clothing, so they too have a feeling that ‘something is wrong with society’ or ‘the normal society isn’t good enough somehow.’ Some of them will be our friends even though their style is the opposite of ours. These are the piercings/tattoos/exotic hairstyles people, the opposite of my ‘all natural’ style.)

Intentional communities and touch deprivation might go together. People who want a totally different community sometimes feel that our touch-deprived society is harmful, and they want touch to be a social norm. Supposedly, the United States is a less touchy society than others. I know from personal experience how desperately I want to touch people and how afraid I am that something bad will happen, like rejection, or a sexual harassment claim, or getting fired from my job.

So you use these belief clusters to link to other people who have something in common with you, people who might understand you better than the mainstream, people who might respond to your advertising.

Those are only a few examples. There are hundreds of other links between belief clusters.

5. Which belief clusters should we avoid?

I was thinking about hackers. Some hackers are anarchists in the sense that they hate ALL authority and rebel against it. There are different ways of hating authority and rules. There are some types of rebellion that are more destructive than others.

Some ‘script kiddies’ on the internet might actually be young children in the real world, and they will do things that are immature and childish *because* they are children.

I’m thinking of Chuck Palahniuk and Project Mayhem. I’ve been to his website and seen the people posting there. Some of those people might be desperately seeking *something* to hold onto, and they might be good people who just need to see some healthier alternative. Some of them are on drugs. Some of them might be people who really do want to destroy things for entertainment. I want to look at sites like that and get a feel for the people there and the culture and what we might have in common with something that I personally find … unpleasant. I didn’t enjoy looking at that website and I didn’t really enjoy reading the books, but all the same, ‘Fight Club’ made me feel something, and it’s the ‘something is wrong with society’ feeling.

I don’t want to encourage the ‘angry Christians’ cluster. I don’t want to be talking about killing large numbers of people or getting vengeance. We’re not focused on vengeance, we’re focused on problem solving. I don’t care about suffering and punishment, I just want the attacks to stop.

Discourage anything having to do with suicide. So I’d be talking about Inception and the ‘commit suicide while dreaming’ concept, and emphasize that we oppose suicide, and that it will be good enough to die when we’re 100 years old, and you can wait till then. Suicide might only be okay for people who are in intolerable, constant pain with some incurable disease, and that kind of thing. But there are too many careless, impulsive, drug-induced suicides committed by people whose problems could be solved with knowledge.

The theme for the last few days has been ‘Nicole is a So/Sp instinctual type.’ So they are looking at my political ideas and my sense of the group and my ‘dignity’. They are showing more sympathy for the ‘social climber’ persona because Harry Browne would have been this type, but he was loved by millions of people. He wasn’t a ‘soulless robot’ at all.

So that’s why I’m using some of the commonly used WordPress tags today from their list of tags.  I don’t normally use them because I usually feel a rebellion against anything described as ‘most common’ or ‘popular,’ and instead I tag my blogs with things like ‘mind control’ so that they can be found by people who are searching for those terms.  I don’t normally use the general terms… but today I will.


August 11, 2010

8:21 PM 8/11/10

I visited Peter in the hospital today. They did an operation on the artery in his left leg to improve the blood flow to his foot. He says that the pain has been greatly reduced.

I have a bunch of different things to say, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to say them all.

the dream
edward cullen
curtis (that’s always in the list of topics)

I saw the movie Inception. I liked it and I might see it again. Somehow it didn’t ‘push my buttons’ in quite the right way to make me feel strong emotions. It might be because there was too much music throughout the whole movie, constantly. I like it to be a little quieter. If I watch it again, maybe I’ll figure out why it didn’t quite work for me.

There are people who create every dream that I dream every night, just like in that movie. But it’s not just one dream, and it’s not to accomplish some big important purpose. I am just an ordinary person and there is no big purpose other than to entertain some people who are using software and equipment for purposes that they shouldn’t be using it for. I don’t know what kind of software or what methods they use to create my dreams, but I do know that all of my dreams are fake. I don’t know when was the last time I had a real dream. They are doing it for harassment reasons, for entertainment, and probably, because somebody somewhere paid them to destroy my life, for unknown reasons.

I am familiar with something – I could relate to the victim, the target, in that movie – the guy whose corporation they wanted to break up. When he reconciled with his father, it was supposed to be a big, emotionally moving moment, something deep and wonderful and special. But it was fake, and it was done for somebody’s purpose, and that purpose had nothing to do with helping that guy to develop himself spiritually. That guy thought that he was experiencing spiritual development, spiritual growth, by realizing that he shouldn’t be like his father. But it was all fake and manipulated. My experiences are just like that. I had fake religious experiences when I was doing therapy with Judith Swack, and they were so fake and cheesy that I couldn’t possibly have ever believed they were real. I don’t know what her OTHER clients experienced, but if theirs was as fake and cheesy as mine was, then there must be a lot of other disillusioned people like me – I can’t imagine ANYONE would believe it.

I think it was last night that I sent an email to Curtis. ‘They’ gave me a dream when I took a nap afterwards. Supposedly, he was grateful to receive the email. So they gave me a sexual dream. I’m actually not really angry about this particular dream. It was sort of cute. But I have to explain the story behind it.

The voices called me the ‘COW’ – Creepy Old Woman – as a joke, because I don’t look really old, and sometimes, young guys find me attractive – though I haven’t actually hooked up with any of them yet. So when we say that I’m the ‘COW’, we don’t really mean it, it’s a joke. (But when I get an email from Curtis on MySpace, which he claims he doesn’t remember sending, because he was drunk all that week, and the email says that I’m 35 years old and it gives him the creeps, THAT, on the other hand, is NOT funny, and in fact, it hurt me very badly and I haven’t forgotten it. As usual I question whether he really sent the email or whether it was from the hackers.)

*taboo alert* – I’ve been paying attention, in the last 24 hours, to my feeling of anxiety whenever I talk about a social taboo. Anytime I say some theory or belief of mine that I know most of society disagrees with, I feel this sense of anxiety, and it’s exactly like in the movie, Inception, where all the ‘subconscious projections’ suddenly turn their heads and look directly at you, because they’ve detected an intruder. I get that feeling that all of society turns its hundred million hostile faces towards me, when I speak of a social taboo. There is danger in speaking a taboo. You can get committed to a mental hospital. You can get convicted of harassment or other crimes. You can lose your job. You can destroy your reputation. Many dangerous things can happen to a person who speaks a social taboo. ‘We’ have been paying attention to my social instinct in the last few days, as we study my Ichazo’s Instinctual Stackings. The social instinct seeks protection and empowerment within larger social groups, and it fears displacement of your social position or harm to your reputation.

The taboo was: Hackers, unknown people, are reading my email, watching everything I do on my computer, and interfering with my life, for their own malicious reasons. They interfere with my emails, and I have gotten emails claiming to be from a particular person but which were written in a different style, as though some other person wrote it. This is all taboo – you can’t just walk out on the street and talk about this with the average person. They will think it’s a conspiracy theory and you’re delusional. Hackers, however, and other groups of people, might agree with you, because they know it’s possible, and they know people are malicious enough to do that. So some specific groups of people will believe you. That’s my opposite of the hundred million hostile faces. For every million hostile faces, there are a million smiling faces somewhere else. You just have to find them.

So anyway, I am the COW. And because I’m the COW, Curtis is ‘the bull.’ So in the dream, they portrayed him as a black bull. Why was he black? Because he’s another Angus cow, like I am. I’m an Angus cow, because I’m not a dairy cow: I don’t have big boobs. And the Angus cows are beef cows, which means they’re meant to be eaten. So that’s why he was a black bull. Come to think of it, he doesn’t have big boobs either. He was a rather small black bull, the size of a large dog, and he had long soft pettable fur, not like the usual fur on a cow or bull. I was sitting in my front yard at the house in West Virginia. That’s probably because I was writing a note about my father’s money, wondering about how much I will inherit someday (and may that be a long, long way off, I’m not rushing it). So that’s why I was at that house, because I guess my brother John and I will inherit the house.

So this black bull runs up to me, and I get scared of it, because who wouldn’t be scared when a big, scary, dangerous animal runs up to you. It laid down on its back in the ‘submissive’ position and wanted me to rub its belly. And I know which incident this is referring to. That was the time when, not too long ago, I was getting soup from the soup bar and Curtis came up to me and stood very close and called me some erotic words including the f-word and magnetically pulled me towards him to touch him. But instead I started laughing, the worst possible thing I could have ever done, and I lost an opportunity. So in the dream I didn’t start laughing, I just rubbed the bull’s belly like I was supposed to, and then I was jerking him off – I could feel the soft-hard skin sliding under my hand – and (I can’t write this) he came on my leg, and I moaned when he came. And then he was relaxed and peaceful.

Then in the next dream he was a ‘dragon,’ and I’ve already blogged about the dragon some time ago. Curtis also has a dragon decal on his car. The dragon was dignified and serious and unapproachable – different from the black bull in the other dream. I think he was a pale, lavender purple color, but I’m not sure. I don’t know why he was that color. The dragon was talking to me, unlike the bull, who said nothing, and the dragon told me things that I can’t remember – I never can remember what they say in the dreams. Somehow I ended up climbing up on the dragon’s head and then massaging its neck, all the way down its back, and I had something on my hands, something slippery like shampoo. I was stroking the dragon’s back and I don’t remember how it ended. I think I slid down its tail and landed on the floor. That was because I’ve touched Curtis’s back once in a while in the real world, and I tried to tell him that these were not just casual, friendly touches, because I never touch anybody – I was touching him because I was sexually attracted to him, and all of the touching was sexual, not friendly.

Like I said, I didn’t get mad about the dreams, because they were actually sort of cute and enjoyable.

I’m reading Twilight. When I told my brother I had seen the movie and I liked the soundtrack, he had a sort of ‘ick’ reaction, and I understood – originally I felt the same way. He had heard that the movies weren’t very good. Actually, I myself feel that the movies weren’t very well done, but I’m reading the books now and I like the books better, I think. They are not a life-changing masterpiece but I’m enjoying them. And I will probably enjoy them more as I go along. I didn’t like Harry Potter at first, either, and before I read it, I was very strongly anti-Potter because it was so popular, and, in my experience, if something is very popular, it’s something I won’t like. I have an almost physical instinct to avoid everything that’s popular, and look for little-known, esoteric, obscure things that nobody else has found. Still, now that I’ve read Harry Potter, and now Twilight, I’m in with the popular crowd on this opinion. But I can’t use those books to tell me whether or not I’ll like somebody. If somebody tells me that they like Harry Potter, I still might not like them overall as a person.

Anyway, Edward Cullen laughs at Bella a lot in the first book. It happened often enough that I noticed it. I wondered about this because I have accidentally laughed at Curtis several times and felt terrible about it. It usually ruined some opportunity or destroyed the trust that he feels for me.

Something that I’m feeling while I read the book is a frustration that they can’t spend enough time together, and instead, they just have these special moments, with big spaces in between where they don’t see each other enough. I know *exactly* how that feels.

I don’t remember what specifically I was going to say about MySpace. I’ve been trying to socialize, to meet people online, and I’m only doing it little by little. I don’t like meeting new people whenever I still have an obsession with one specific person in my mind, someone who looks more beautiful and more attractive to me than all these other people I’m meeting. And I’m afraid that I’ll abandon them, the new people I meet, if Curtis gives me the slightest sign of being friendly, if he gives me any hope of a relationship outside work.

I think I’ll post this now. The title turned out to be somewhat ironic. It’s not really about socializing.

A Dull and Boring Soul?

August 10, 2010

5:57 PM 8/10/10

I am in coffee withdrawal again. I have a splitting headache. This headache is much worse than it was the last time I quit coffee. I’m quitting coffee because I’ve been drinking tons and tons of it every day to help with my chronic fatigue. And I’ve been drinking coffee instead of eating food. And I’ve got some cavities developing in my teeth. Last time I quit coffee, my teeth gradually remineralized and stopped hurting, so I’m doing that again. But I can’t get anything done.

There is a torture going on about my Ichazo’s instinctual type. It wouldn’t matter if I weren’t fighting with the voices. If I were free to be myself, then I would be able to express my soul to the world – it’s something I would have learned to do over the years. They’re wondering if I’m a sp/so instead of sp/sx, because of how difficult it is for me to relate to other people, to bond deeply with them, to attract them, to express myself to them. They’re always wanting to change my instinctual type – this is nothing new. They’re saying that I have the ‘coldness’ in my personality instead of the warmth and charisma that the sx instinct gives you. I don’t know how I’d behave if I were free, like I said, but yes, I do have a cold, formal dignity that gets in the way of sexual expression and openness.

I remember something someone wrote on a forum about the instincts. It was a sp/so type who complained about the stereotypes about that instinctual stacking. She said, ‘I’m not just a coupon-clipping worker bee!’ I agree with her. I have a soul. I have feelings. I have a desire to bond with someone and to love them deeply. I watch movies, and I listen to music, and I respond strongly to them if they’re done right, and if they’re done badly, I can’t stand them, or if they express ideas that I hate, then I can’t stand them.

I can give an example of something I’d never do. There’s a lady at McDonald’s who acts like someone who has a strong sx instinct in her personality. She isn’t really beautiful – I don’t like to insult people if I don’t have any reason to insult them, and I don’t dislike her, so I don’t really want to describe all the ways that she’s ugly instead of beautiful. Just take my word for it that she isn’t beautiful, she is somewhat ugly, by most people’s standards. But she has a husband, if I understand correctly, and children. And a few days ago, one of the other guys who works there had come in to work, and when she saw him, she moaned, ‘Ooooh, it’s Jeremy,’ and she looked up at him in a seductive way. Then she said, ‘Have you lost weight? Every time I see you you seem to be getting thinner.’ He said that yes, he had been losing weight.

I can’t imagine myself openly flirting with anyone like that, ever. Lack of confidence, partly. Partly because it just seems unnatural for me. Even if I am sure that someone is attracted to me, I can’t say things like ‘oooh, it’s Jeremy’, just because I can’t talk that way. It’s almost physically impossible for me to talk that way.

There is a sort of dignity that gets in the way, and a feeling that it is too special, too sacred, too vulnerable, to express myself that way out loud. There is something too direct about it, too exposed, – and maybe if I weren’t being listened to and spied on by murderers who make a big, huge deal out of anything sexual, then it wouldn’t be so difficult for me. It’s something that you absolutely must *not* make a big deal out of. If you do, it gets destroyed instantly. When the murderers attack me they always attack me about things that are sexual. They zap me the most when I’m trying to be close to somebody and enjoy the moment with them. It’s like their goal is to prove that I am soulless and therefore it’s okay for them to destroy my life.

I’ve been reading Twilight. I never read those books before. I saw the movie Eclipse and so I decided to start reading the books. Everyone likes to read about people who have ‘dark secrets,’ like Edward being a vampire. But I was comparing that with myself. I have dark secrets too; why doesn’t anybody like my dark secrets? Because my dark secrets are dark, BAD secrets. Mind control is real. We are all potentially its victims, although some people are attacked more than others, while many people are mostly ignored. Usually, this is something you don’t need to know. If they’re not attacking you, then you don’t need to even be bothered with somebody’s else’s problem of electronic harassment. That person is just unusual and unlucky and they must have done something to make somebody mad at them. There is no good side to that secret.

But the ‘dark secrets’ in these books, like Edward being a vampire, or reality being a Matrix, or Harry Potter being a wizard, always have a good side to the dark secret. You’re a vampire, but it’s really cool because you can live forever and have special powers. The world is a matrix, but if you learn how to manipulate it, you can do amazing things that nobody else can do. You’re a wizard, and you’re different from everybody around you, but, once again, you have special powers, and you have a whole community of people supporting you.

My dark secrets don’t really have a good side. So I was trying to figure out what ‘special powers’ I have that would make somebody want to know my dark secrets. There is one thing that I can do. I know about saving money and I know about a frugal lifestyle. If you question the way you spend money, if you question everything about money, then you can save enough money that you can work fewer hours at your job. And if you work fewer hours at your job, then you can actually spend time doing things that matter to you. You can spend time with your family, or working on hobbies and projects, or just doing nothing and relaxing and having fun. I have spent years learning all about money and how it works. So if you are trapped, working too many hours at a job you hate, I am the person you want to get to know, because I sympathize with your problem and I know there are ways we can solve that problem.

So that is the result of fighting with the voices about my ‘boring’ self-preservation instinct, and what could possibly be good and exciting about it. It really is exciting if you can control your finances and quit working so many hours after you change your lifestyle. You can have the things you want in life instead of just wishing for them. My ‘special power’ is power over money.

They have been giving me this feeling a lot: that I’m boring, that nobody wants to know me, and that my soul, if it exists, is worthless to everyone. Somebody out there is pushing a button on a machine to give me that specific feeling, and they’ve been pushing that button a lot lately.