I am depressed.... My life seems pointless......

I am working seven days a week and still not able to realize any of the goals I had set. There isn't time. There isn't money. What exactly is the point of slaving away if all you can do is maintain survival?

My life is a whirlwind. The most irritating thing about it is that people seem to take this as an opportunity to foist their wills on me, i.e., my life is 'out of control' therefore it is their place to either tell me what to do or to otherwise dominate me. That pisses me off!!! Just because it's busy and hectic, mayeb even sllightly crazy, doesn't mean I can't deal with it. What I just cannot hack is other people interfering.

Yeah, now I'm just ranting and have no substantial proofs or examples to offer. :-P

Still, I find myself mouthing apologies a lot lately, when I don't even mean it, and most of the time, it isn't even necessary in the slightest.

I'd give anything, anything, anything at all to forget you. If, by cutting off my right hand and arm, I could instantly get over you.... man, I'd do it without a moments hesitation.

Current mood: I spent almost the entire day feeling more broken up than I've been in, say, almost a month. I wasn't sure why, why today, when I'd finally regained some joy and happiness in life. Loving someone is like having a cancer of the heart, with its remissions and relapses. 
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If I could scream, if I could rage, if I could cry, I would....but I can't.  I can only write, here. So, maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.
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Is this normal: That I associate people with colors and textures, also sounds with colors, tactile sensations  or tastes, and so on.  No, I don't mean a certain person with a certain textile b/c that's what they wear. I mean, I associate certain very particular shades of color wioth certain people even though they may never have worn that shade, because that color seems as if it *is* them.

I cut my hair off about a month ago. I haven't had it this short since I was 14. I considered shaving or buzzing it all, but opted for something less extreme. It was still a pretty drastic change. I did it because:

• My heart was broken. It was an act of greiving, sort of.
• I was angry. I wanted to die, but decided that cutting the hair would be a less destructive expression.
• It was also sort of a starting over, cutting off the old stuff, turning a new page sort of thing.
• There was also an element of denying my femininity, desexing myself. I chose a man's haircut.
• Finally, I figured that I'd probably be alone for the rest of my life, so there was little sense in being attractive anymore. One of the prime reasons for long hair was that guys tend to like it. No guy in sight, why hassle with it any longer?? So, sort of a surrender.

Irony can be so sweet.........

There is some kind of a saying, either Buddhist/Zen or Judaic, to the effect that when you strive after something.. it becomes elusive, or that when you cease looking for it, chasing it, then you find it.

It's very true.

:smiling deeply from my soul:

Pet Peeves and Wayward thoughts:

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Guys who wear (and I assume intentionally) their underwear exposed by about 3 inches above their waistline. What is this supposed to do? Advertise the brand name? Why? Advertise the fact that they *wear* underwear? Turn girls on? Is it to bring one's attention to the underwear and thence to other, more bedroomly notions?

Yeah, girls wear thongs with low pants. But that's different, because of the shape of the thong and the shape of the skin exposed. It's sexy, and it's teasing, and I personnally find the shapes of the skin/thong/pants aesthetiucally pleasing and far more interesting than a plain waistlilne. That's just me.

But the guy's underwear doesn't show anything but itself, and it isn't even form fitting or erotic in a tactile way (such as silk would be). It just looks like a sloppy jock. Ugh....

Man, I can't believe that I wasted my lunch break ranting about such a trivial thing.

Anyway- current mood, for the most part: happy happy happy

It's like...so many thoughts swirling tumultuously in my head; a slurry mess of muddy blue-green-black-dirty gray (and maybe a few little streaks of red)fighting and struggling with one another. And then.....and then when....it's like a smooth, pure white stone appearing in the center of it all, an island of calm. And all the rest is insignificant.

Scattered but interconnected musings about love-

• Ah, yes...the four letter word. On one hand, the bane of my existence. On the other, the very reason and goal of that existence.
• Why is it that I asssociate love with pain, genrally speaking? Looking back, my initial reaction, upon falling for someone, was terror...not happiness, although that was there too, but real, bone shaking fear.
• And it seems a little odd to realize that I could actually love someone without the fear, without even a fragment of it.
• However, it seems to me that our culture, and probably others as well, romanticizes pain associated with love. Indeed, it is almost as though love and happiness in the abscence of pain would be less valid somehow. What a crock of shit!!!!
• It also seems to me that in the media, popular mindset, etc etc....pain is the acid test of love. You love him? (Or her?) Is it hurting? Is he she causing you pain? Yep, must be love. (I am sitting here rolling my eyes, and yet, I too believed this.)
• Also, why is it that love is seen as static and concrete, fixed. It's not. In fact, I think if it were, it'd be dead, that is, cease to exist.
• There is also this idea that it's a limited commodity, that there's only so much to share or to give, and that it has to be jealously guarded. That seems contrary to it's true nature.
• Oh, hell, I don't know. This is all starting to get a little abstract and amorphous for me....but I do know that I've had it with the love=pain and pain=love trip. That just sucks and I don't think it has to be that way.
• See, I *can* learn from my mistakes. I might be the sort who has to *do* to learn, but learn I can. :-)

This is the goodbye you didn't let me have....it almost has to be listened to, though...reading it is just not the same. Oh well. At this point I'm past obsessing about this sort of thing, or any of it, actually.

Letitgoletitgoletitgoletitgo.....Yep...I'm gonna let it go.

This song is perfect (well, except for pool and school). I've already mentioned the fact that communication is problematic for me. I tend to believe and try to rely on telepathy to some extent, but I think the cold hard truth is that this has been a figment of my (colorful) imagination and I just wanted to believe that such a thing was possible, that it wouldn't be so goddamned *difficult*, that someone would be able to see and hear past the faltering awkward words that are so labored and inadequate for what I want to say. In other words, wishful thinking. There isn't such a thing. Oh, I don't know....maybe there is, hell, I don't know... Even if there is...but for the momnet let's just assume there's not, how many opportunuties have been lost of simply never came to pass, how many unrealized interactions have there been because I thought that somehow, the other person could read my eyes or thoughts? (Read my eyes??? It is SO HARD for me to look a person in the eye, with *rare* exceptions).

But mostly, I think I just zone out, and probably look stupid while doing so. Even if there is telepathy, how many people would be receptive of it?

Ack...I'm getting sidetracked. Anyway, here is a portion of the above song that expresses how I feel. (Song is copyrighted, Elton John, etc etc)
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If you only knew
What I'm going through
Time and again I get ashamed
To say your name
It's hard to grin and bear
When you're standing there
My lips are dry
I catch your eye and look away
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Yeah. That perfectly expresses the almost paralyzing degree or shyness and social ineptitude that I suffer from.

AND WHAT REALLY SUCKS is when I finally get up the nerve to say something to someone (believe it or not I sometimes rehearse things I want to say hours, days, even months in advance), when I finally spit it out and then the other party doesn't even listen or really hear me, or they look at me like I'm nuts, etc etc..... Oh god, it is so frustrating!!! Or, they hear and listen but it doesn't 'get through' to them, or still, worse, they misunderstand me and don't give me a chance to defend myself before jumping all the hell over me (after which I go away and plan out a carefully executed reply for the next week or two). God, it sucks to be me. :sigh: :-(

I took this test and while I could have scored far worse than I did, I had an extremely difficult time with it. The answers I would have guessed weren't usually among the multiple choices. For example, for most of the women, my choice would have been 'sexy' or 'contemptuous'. The men, I wasn't any more sure about....I found myself throwing up my hands in exasperation- how can all that be inferred or read from someone's eyes??

The answers were far more complex and fine tuned than what I would have given: 1- playful, or friendly. 2, sad or else, old. 3, sexpot. 4, domineering 5, looking up thinking 6, sexpot. 7,looking back to the side as though he has just seen something 8,squinting in sunlight. 9, sexpot looking for someone. 10, rugged looking guy smiling 11, possibly a drunk or else tired. 12,skeptical sidelong glance. 13, open 14, scary 15, dreamy girl probably thinking about guy she likes. 16, I like this set of eyes. I can't be objective in my answer, so I'll skip it. These are the sort of eyes I go for. 17 dreamy slightly sad girl 18, bitchy sexpot, probably thinks she's very hot 19, I honestly don't know... 20, slightly walleyed friendly. 21, pretty-friendly 22, careful 23, alert. 24, old and sad and worried 25,sexpot acting flirty 26, unhealthy icky eyes, I would automatically avoid this person, not sure why. 27,28, sexpots looking sexy (what else could possibly be derived from these???) 29, dreamy 30, 31, same as 27 and 28. 32, old, determined, battle scarred. 33, another handsome set of eyes. This time they looked worried, or yes, concerned. Mostly they look good! :-P 34, sexpot, probably Californian. 35, sultry sexpot (whatever that means) 36, mean.

I suppose that to me, a woman wearing lots of eye makeup looks sexy and that's about it. I read no expression in those eyes, except for the dreamy ones. Not too surprising that I have difficulties forming friendships with women- they are almost completely inscrutable to me. The men are slightly better to read, but not by much. Hmmm.

All my life, I've felt like an outcast. I was never able to put a finger on *why*, but the sense of it couldn't have been clearer had it been branded on my forehead. I've struggled (mostly in vain) to make myself heard or understood, given up, sighed and fumed and raged at the perceived ineptitude and shallowness of the general population. They seemed always to be playing some sort of unspoken game that I couldn't see or figure out or read the rules to, yet was punished for failing at.... Now it all makes sense, total and complete sense (well, not the game- that will _never_ make sense to me).

As a child, I used to wonder at what people did...and I used to believe that it was my job to show them the error of their ways, of their stupid two faced social games and lack of forthrightness and honesty. I used to promise myself, that when I grew up, I'd remember what it was like to be a kid, and that I'd be true to myself, not like the adults that I puzzled over. As far as I was concerned, my mission in life was to offer my profound insights to the world at large, to teach them what was really important in life and to quit fretting over silly crap (ah, the idealism of childhood...).

But they throttled me, literally and otherwise. The happily curious and richly creative loner withered away into a brooding, withdrawn, and very confused and depressed 'dork' before I was through third grade. I kept hoping that I'd find someone who'd understand, that I could have a rapport with...really, truly...all I've ever really wanted is to have that rapport and bond with someone, just one person, and I'd be truly and deeply happy. I kept looking...and looking....and looking....and waiting, because I'm about as patient about waiting as a person could possibly be. I'd wait my entire life to spend just one year, or even a month, perhaps only a day of it with someone in that sort of a bond. Yes, I'd wait, and gladly...not begrudging a second of the time spent. Once, I thought I'd found such a person, and I was in seventh heaven for a few days, a few hours, until, until...he sort of vanished from my life. For years I tried to maintain the illusion that he had understood, that he had liked me as I really was...but finally I had to accept that he hadn't. If he had, he would have known me better than he did, he wouldn't have done certain things. He was a nice man, but he never really knew me.

In the bible, the word 'know' or 'knew' is used in a sexual context: "and Adam knew his wife Eve and they concieved a son, Abel." "Issac went into the tent and knew Rebekah and she became his wife". I don't believe in the bible anymore, but this use of the word moves me...sex and a relationship should involve really 'knowing' your lover. "And the girl was a virgin, no man had ever known her". My body is no longer virginal...but in a certain sense, I've never been 'known'. My soul has never been opened. And I'd give anything, anything, anything at all that was mine to give, to have that, but I'd sooner live and die alone than to ever settle for less again.

Anyway, long story short...whether there was actually anything wrong with me is debateable, but yes, I was and am defintely different: aspergia.com

I am really really depressed.....I think I'm an Aspie (a person with Aspberger's syndrome). I mean, in a way this is kind of a relief- it totally explains why I'm the way I am, and frankly I'm sick and tired of trying to go against the grain of my personality merely to fit in, and I've felt 'weird' my entire life- but on the other hand it feels like a sort of death sentence....it's pretty typical for Aspies to have a very hard time forming relationships, even friendships, beyond an aquaintanceship level. People with Asperger's have a very hard/near impossible time with 'reading' or misreading so-called normal people (among other things)...and this definitely seems to be a HUGE issue with me.

All I've ever wanted my entire life (other than being an artist) is to have *ONE* really close friend who'd understand me. I don't think it's ever going to happen. I've been alone my entire life and it looks like I always will be. :-( I don't know if that sort of a life is worth living.

What do you say when you can't eat, can't drink, can't sleep, can't get out of bed, can't face the world, when your mind feels like it's falling apart...and then it gets worse?

I'm trying to tell myself I deserve it, but somehow that's a little hard to believe.

Arrgh!!!

I'm depressed. I feel things so intensely, and I had might as well be a mute hermit for all the (lack of) ability I have in expressing it. The things that are within me- feelings, thoughts, ideas, insights, and so on, torment me, especially the feelings. I can be content to sit and think about the other stuff, except that it gets lonely...but feeling aren't rational and trying to analyze or transform them into something rational gets really tiresome after a few months (well, okay, sooner than that). Anyway, back to the main thought at hand: spoken words can never express or do justice to the things in my head, and it ****ing drives me crazy.

How can anyone cram what they feel into a few convenient, concise words and be contented with that? An idea- they're diagrams or images in my head, something almost tangible that I can turn over mentally and examine from several angles. It's always been this way for me- even numbers. How anyone can translate such a thing into sounds, and sounds not of music or even singing- for that seems possible to me- but of a voice speaking, just baffles and confounds me. Don't they sense the lack of vitality, the color fading from the thing, the difference between a living growing flower and a dead wilted one?

They don't seem to. Are they contented with that, are they shallow or are they able to say what they want to? How can that be enough for them?

Eh. What I'm really wondering doesn't concern them. I feel like a very plain understated package that people pass over because it just sits there, concealing what is within- many interesting and colorful things- because it is incompetent and powerless to describe them on little label. I can gripe about the bright and clearly labeled boxes or criticize the ones with the picture windows displaying their contents, but that only circumvents the real issue. I am jealous, yes!!- green with envy- because I sit on the sidelines as though paralyzed and dumb. I feel like a social retard, crippled by my ineptitude and clumsiness.

The only thing that even comes close to expressing it, (other than actions, which are inclined to be cautious) is art. I'm about ripe for another painting. People don't understand them, either, but at least I feel better afterwards for having expressed it..... :-P

Today's weird idea: they should make a watch that's a very thin patch which fastens with a waterproof adhesive to the skin. It should derive it's power from the pulsing of the veins on the inner side of the wrist. It wouldn't need batteries and it wouldn't fail until one died (and at that point, who cares if it quits oiperating for awhile? Besides, it would be a handy indicator of the time of death).

Two songs for today:white flag hello

Today's gripe (should be: "today's weird gripe"): Why is it that men have a word for their arousal- erections- and there is no suitable corresponding word for women? Men get engorged. So do women. I'm assuming that it can an uncomfortable state for them, as it is for women. It can be almost painful. I guess the fact that we don't have anything visible sticking out makes it less legitimate somehow. *Irk*!!!

I've moved to the new place. It's nice and quiet, peaceful. It's nice to have my own space and to be able to arrange matters in my own way.

Bad thoughts: I think it would be funny if soemone crossed a Shar Pewi with a Dachschund. That would be hilarious.

I had another one- oh, darn. I can't remember it right now. Dang.

Well, that was a bit extreme and not at all fair. I discovered that I was wrong, too: My grandma Amy, the one who helped raise me, loves me. She really does. :warm fuzzy nurtured vibes:

So let me restate this: I feel alone.

There may be people who love me, but if I feel so isolated that I can't feel it 99% of the time, what good does it do me? I've always been so different and struggled so hard to try to get people to acknowledge me for what I am, not what they want me to be...Let's face it: I'm kind of weird. Always have been, always will be.

The way people feel about me is largely immaterial, whether they love or hate me, if I can't be reached. If it's a protection, it's also a barrier. I have to feel like someone *understands* me- no illusions, no wishful thoughts about how I could be like other people, there has to be a mental connection; and most of the time, it's lacking.

I used to have a very strong sense of myself, and over many years I've tried to suppress it- to please people, to avoid punishment, to try to win love, worn myself out trying to figure out what they wanted me to be and trying to mold myself into that. The thing is, I was never really secure when they liked me, because I felt like a sham. And you know, I'm sick of it. I want to be myself again, and to hell with what anyone else thinks, because people who don't like you the way you are never really did in the first place anyway.

The other day I was walking through the store- (I think it must have been last Thursday, becasue I was at the store with a client in Sandpoint); and as I passed a case full of cookies with brightly colored frosting on them this thought came to me: I am unloved. There is nobody: family, lover, or otherwise. It stood out spare and bleak as against a flat featureless landscape, a plain fact. I looked at it as if from far away, as if from another person, and the thought was as though it were happening to someone else and I was unmoved....it was like coming across the corpse of something lying alongside the road- you look at it for a moment, you say to yourself, "It is dead" and the reality being what it is, you resume walking.

It sounds rather surreal, and that's the way it felt....

But I think it's probably true. There are people who *need* me, people who *want* me for whatever reason, people who like me, people who find me useful or beneficial to them in some way, there are people who feel a sort of duty towards me, and above all, people who try hard to go through life being kind and good natured towards everyone, so of course they're nice to me. :shrug: But love? I don't think so.

I think it's possible to love someone _and_ to need, want or find them useful, but if you can't love them without that, then it isn't love.

I never really got back about that painting, did I? Well, I'm not done with it yet. And actually, the idea I had sort of evaporated and was replaced by a similar but different one...but whatever. The point is that I felt like killing someone that night and I regained my sanity by painting a picture. If I go too long without enough solitude and no painting or other creative expression, I get that way, particuarly if I'm already stressed. It's abstract. I don't expect anyone will like it. I don't care. I like it.

:Searching brain for other news: I've been researching Georgia O'Keeffe and Aspberger syndrome.

Oh- I came up with this neat and arguably evil idea: one of the main limitations of clothing design is that fact that is has to be fastened to the body, and the shape has to support that requirement. There are all sorts of neat shapes and stuff that simply would not work b/c they'd fall off (or get in the way). Just about everythign functional about clothing is based on the fact that it has to cling to, wrap around, grip, or encase the body, when all clothing really needs to do is to conceal, expose, or warm the body. So I have the solution: what we ned are little skin toned adhesive patches, sort of like the medication patches they sell to stop smoking, diet, etc etc.. but the patch should hold a strong magnet to the body. The clothing can then incorporate magnets at key positions to attach to the one on the body. The magnets could be adjusted to make allowances for size and tailoring. Using this system, garments could be designed that would make the bikini look conservative, and risky (they're pretty bad about falling off). No more bands or belts or pink marks where something was too tight! Goodbye to snaps and straps and zips! No more worrying about a dress sliding down or, for that matter, riding up, if you don't want it to! Well....OK....I'm trying to think of applications for male garments and admittedly, I'm having mental roadblocks....but women would have a heyday with it!

I want to paint or draw....but I cannot come up with a picture to express the way I feel. I try: an image rolls through. Nah....not emphatic enough, not dark enough, not enough contrast there...too blah too soft too bland and half hearted too dull too.....too inadequate. They're all like that, if I can conjure anything at all.

OK wait....that might work. I can try. There is a painting on the wall upstairs that says it...sweeter, keener. It is the only painting that I have _never_ever gotten a comment or compliment on by anyone. They don't understand it. What I want to do now is darker, emptier, more spare bare boned, less bright.... Yeah. I'll give it a whirl. I kind of wish I could post the pictures here.

Need to get a digital camera.