Namaste, Bitches

I read the Gemini & Cancer horoscopes that Rob Breszny writes, just to keep up w/the tides that move people who end up in my life. All the people I know seem to be Geminis, Cancers & Scorpios... but anyway, today in RB's Gemini horoscope, his blurb at the bottom said something about playing the Game of Scars. He said the game was meant to be played with someone empathetic (or maybe empathic, who knows?).

I've got a few physical scars, but it's kind of weird to me how many things have happened that didn't scar me. I've been burned badly twice - once when I was 3 & once when I was 5. I grabbed and held onto a soldering iron when I was 3, and when I was 5 we were bobbing for apples and I stumbled into a blazing barbecue grill. On both occasions, I got to undergo the lovely process of debridement - the meticulous process of removing dead tissue that often accompanies third-degree burns. I didn't scar from my encounter with the soldering iron, and the only noticeable difference between my barbecued arm and non-barbecued arm is that the grain of my skin sort of spirals from my elbow inward on the barbecue arm - it looks sort of rippled, but unless you look closely you honestly cannot see the difference. I only notice it because I know what to look for. I lost a finger, but you can't tell where it was reattached. The scar from the bouncy-horse spring has melded into the rattlesnake bite, which blends into the scar from where I had a pin in my leg. One burn that did scar was from a pen I melted (that trick of getting ink to flow by warming a pen w/a lighter? Yeah.) - plastic dripped onto me & took some of me away when I peeled it off. That got me deep enough to where I don't even have any hair follicles in that patch of skin. I've got the scars from the pins in my leg, deep dimples that would probably take plastic surgery to minimize. A weird lump of knotted flesh on my hip that used to look like the imprint of a turn signal. Scars on the sides of my pinkies from breaking glasses while washing them. An ancient echo of a badly scraped knee alongside the suture-marks from my knee surgery that already look ancient and faded. Scars on my ankles from knicking them with a razor while shaving. A cross - all that remains of the time I carved the anarchy symbol into my arm. A tattoo covers the faded patchy remains of 'Sleaze Dog' carved in my hip - I did that upside down, not a bad trick if I say so myself. A stutter-mark down both wrists - why it left marks like that I don't know - the attempt was quite earnest and bloody, but whatever blood type I have has an insane clotting factor. Alongside the stutter marks on one wrist are four neat puncture marks - an encounter with a Chow who did not want to go back inside the house when I wanted her to. She won the argument, mainly because I had to stop the bleeding and clean the ceiling before my sister got home.

I can see them because I know where to look for them, but most of my injuries didn't leave permanent marks. Emotional things that have happened to me are pretty much the same. My memories fade away, not because I'm not trying to hold onto some shred of who I am, but over time they just slip away. Not a great deal of time has passed between me and childhood, but it seems faint and far away. I remember bits and pieces, the general atmosphere that surrounded me, spirits of time and place haunt me moreso than people in my life or houses I inhabited.

I'm probably going to develop Alzheimer's or dementia when I get older.

A lot of people worry about leaving something for posterity, they want people to remember them and the things they've said or done. They want to make a mark on the world. I want to be like my scars. I don't want to make an impression on anyone, I don't want anyone to remember me when I'm gone. Except, strangely enough, for myself if and when I come back, in some other life.

Rob called me to tell me there was thunder and lightning along with real rain. And I am stuck in a windowless basement.

How can I be there for you?

(Short of posting my phone number on teh internets that is.)

Rob says I do not know how to play a warlock. That hurt my feelings, but it's true (I am very good at being a hunter, though - my first name is Aggro Management & my middle name is Crowd Control). My warlock is my enchanter/alchemist & I'm afraid she'll never see lvl 50. She's going to be stuck at lvl 40 & maxed out at 300 skill for the rest of her existence. I can't even delete & reroll her because I'll feel guilty about dumping so much gold into leveling up her enchanting. She has such a cool name, though. It's Kitsune. Do you know how hard it is to get the name Kitsune in an MMORPG? It's like trying to get Raven or Death. Rob has a Death character, but the a & e have accents over them. (I digress - I know I pissed some Alliance character off because for the longest time, 'Perzephone' was an Alliance character's name. When the BC expansion came out, I was just screwing around trying different names for a Draenai & bam! Perzephone was accepted. I finally got bored being an Alli & turned Perzephone into an Undead, like she should be). Anyway, it sucks, I can't play 'locks. I've read all the FAQ's & strategy blogs & I can't do it. It's weird, too, because 'locks are just hunters, but with more mana-management issues & soul shards. My DPS sucks. I've tried all 3 specs, too. I should be kicking ass & taking names at 40, but Kitsune just sucks. And I went & gave her the jingling bell for the reindeer pet over Winter's Veil, too. Maybe if I get another reindeer next year, I'll re-roll her as a mage or something. So I've been working on leveling Scaryspice. People like to buy stuff made by Scaryspice, I don't know why, but her leather armor & cloth bags just sell like hotcakes. I've even seen people wearing armor 'Made by Scaryspice'. I think she's the new FUBU or Benetton. Working on her has been really fun over the past coupla days because she is teh awesome.

(Hey, the Sci-Fi Network is going to be having Animondays... all anime all night. The advertisement says, "Just f-ing watch!". We're going to have to learn how to use the DVD recorder, lol.)

I started thinking... I can give compliments and I can hand out positive affirmations left & right, and I do tell people the truth when it comes to stuff like that. It's not shallow, schmoozing corporate-crap I dole out (I try not to say deliberately hurtful things for the sake of being hurtful. Sometimes some of my advice is hurtful, but I've been trying to tone it down a little. I've been trying to take Fox's advice in being more selective with my words). It's hard - being truthful is hard in a society where little white lies are the moral compass. The whole getting with the girls & having the self-deprecating 'fat talk'. Everyone knows I will tell them exactly what they look like to me if they ask me, but I've never seen things quite the way other people see them. Maybe it's my lack of depth perception or my near-sightedness... or even my touch of the Sight, being able to see auras, being able to see inside. Until you get close to me & I can see you clearly, everyone is beautful to me. Most people even stay beautiful close up & personal. One time me & Rob went to Pizza Hut & our waitress was beautiful & it showed in her graciousness that it wasn't just skin-deep. I wrote her a note on a napkin & told her she was beautiful. One of my past co-workers, Sybil, was absolutely gorgeous, jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and she was too nice to other people sometimes, & she had such poor self-esteem. I never let her go a night without telling her something nice. She was a nurse, too, & I could never picture that itty-bitty woman having to pick up someone & roll them over - which she did, but sometimes strength is as deceptive as outward appearances.

I believe in lifting others up. It's not hard at all, but it seems like I'm surrounded by people who constantly feel the need to push others down. Listening to Rob & his mom on the phone is pretty horrible. Rob can get so defensive when he's trying to argue a point - a debate with him is always seen as a personal attack & I've seen more & more where he gets it from. Rob's mom will get an idea in her head (she needs to stop believing everything she sees on t.v.) & she will call Rob up because she's bored & deliberately get him riled up. She won't let go of whatever subject she's chosen (tonight it was, of all things, why Jesus was killed by the Romans - his mom seems to be convinced Jesus was protesting Roman taxation & that he went before the Roman senate as a political leader of Galilee & they killed him for subversive ideas about communism or socialism or some off-the-wall -ism) & Rob has to agree wholeheartedly with her opinion. Tonight, Rob put his philosophical foot down & said, "until you provide reliable sources, I'm not agreeing with you!" (I have to admit, I goaded him on by providing insight into the Roman social policies of the time, like the fact that a Roman citizen, or anyone on the same level as Roman citizenry, would never be crucified - that was a particularly humiliating & degrading method of execution reserved for non-Roman slaves & outsiders considered beneath the notice of most Roman citizens). This pulled a half-hour long conversation into 2 agonizing hours (it was amusing from my seat in the Peanut Gallery, though, because at one point, Rob was comparing his teen-aged group of burglar friends to the apostles & Rob said "Hey, ma, I'm Jesus Christ!" & then the phone started making some weird beeping noises, so Rob got all paranoid, especially when I told him Janet Reno was coming for his ass & reminded him they both had said 'Timothy McVeigh', 'white supremacy', 'David Koresh' & 'terrorist' all over a cell phone). Rob & I get into this back & forth thing sometimes. He thinks when I say I have no talents that I am being short-sighted or down on myself. He gets this idea that by me saying that I'm essentially a waste of human life is a criticism of him - how could he want to be with someone who is, for the most part, useless? He gets defensive & angry & takes my self-deprecation personally. Makes absolutely no sense to me, except when I view it in the proper context of how he argues with his mom.

He thinks (as do some other people) that maybe my depression distorts things & that I have spent soooo much time & effort on focusing on negative things that I cannot recognize positive things. I don't see it as focusing on the negative or being pessimistic. I just see things realistically. Neither positive nor negative. It's all a matter of perspective and acceptance of truth. Trying not to put a personal bias on anything around me. He thinks I'm witty and talented and skillful, but what I see myself as is someone who is well-trained to be a night auditor & who has typed to the point where I can type 60wpm. He thinks I'm intelligent, but I see myself as someone who has read a lot. I can't retain math. I have bad taste in art & literature. I am only truly smart in a couple of subjects that are of no use in the practical world. I mean, Hel, I could get arrested & sent to jail for practicing medicine without a license if any of my herbal advice ever went horribly awry, no matter how many disclaimers I tell someone before making a suggestion.

I admit, I can't take a compliment and I don't implement or accept good advice, which is something I find fault with in others. It's why I gave up the Tarot cards. But today, I will take Lakshmi's & Maeve's advice & I will come up with something positive. Rob came up with one skill that I do have to agree with because it is the truth, and it is something positive in today's world, a marketable asset to have.

I can multi-task.

Just for the record, I'm one math problem, one chapter test & one final away from being finished w/math for this semester. I've been a very good girl the past couple of days. I want to get all this school shit out of the way before the Winter Holiday begins on WoW ;)

Anyway, Rob's got Angel on in the background, & Angel goes to see what I can only assume is a psychologist. He asks Angel why he chooses to wear black, & Angel says since he has no reflection, it makes getting dressed easier. The shrink replies, "But you do have a reflection. It's in the eyes of everyone who knows you" (or something to that effect).

Yanno, I don't think I've ever asked anyone, "What do you see in me?" Rob asks me sometimes, and I have to think of pretty, harmless lies. I feel dishonorable every time it happens, but it's better than hurting his feelings on a daily basis. I know what I see when I look in a mirror... this morning I'm pale & drawn around the eyes. I've got those greenish shiners again. Blemishes & chapped lips standing out rosy red against pale white, black hair already showing grey at the roots, even though I just colored it last week. Too much time spent on the other side, trying to get to work on time. Las Vegas traffic is slowly killing me, or at least making me older. I don't look well or healthy to myself. I look so freaking tired, thin lipped & despondent. Everyone had a smile for me last night, though, and it was a struggle to return kindness with kindness. I wonder, why did people smile at me when I look so shitty?

I've made my commitment to at least cut back on some things. Coca-Cola was the first thing on the list. No more soda. I made ice, whipped out my iced tea machine & haven't had a Coke in three nights now. It also spells out a cut-back on caffeine, which is definitely a hardship. No more bread - it's a curse, really. All I think about is bread. And potatoes. No potatoes. The sweet potatoes I made the other night were okay - yams aren't quite as bad as white potatoes. My next step is cutting down on the sugar I put in my coffee. I'd switch to black, but the acid content rips my gut up right now & the half & half sort of mitigates that effect - and for some reason, Cafe au Lait doesn't taste right with no sugar. I've been having at least one cup of coffee with milk & sugar every day since I was three or four. I went four years without caffeine to try & lower my b.p. naturally & that was Hell. I also cut out all salt & fat for a couple of years. Walked around w/no cholesterol in my body whatsoever... the worst part about those years of self-denial & self-discipline is that it just didn't work. Still had high b.p. Still have high b.p. Now I take my meds & eats my salt & I don't worry about it. The worst that could happen is that they won't be able to use my corneas for transplants when I die.

Yanno, since I took the 'Color Quiz' this morning, I've been bugged by it. It and the damned Mountain Lion card. I keep drawing the Mountain Lion, which is 'Leadership'.

Look, Universe, I don't want recognition. I don't want to be a leader. I am not a leader. I am a follower. Half the time, even when I'm following, I don't even know where the Hel I'm going... If I had been Moses, the Jews would still be lost in the desert, if I had been Hannibal, those elephants would have quite a herd somewhere in the Alps by now... I am content to work for other people, quietly and unassumingly. I prefer anonymity and mediocrity. I don't want to stand out, stand above or be noticed. Leave me the Hel alone!!!

And it's not that I'm sitting here on the surface going, "Oh, no, me? A leader? Never!" while plotting a government coup, either. It's an honest desire to stay in the middle of the crowd wearing neutral colors. It's not even a subconscious thing that I'm having an inner battle about - some part of me going, "Yes! I am truly a Leader!" while the rest of me is in denial about it. I mean, yeah, I am a Capricorn, but not all Capricorns are born to rule - some of us are just trying not to fall off the damn mountainside.

I don't think I've ever really wanted fame or recognition, or even infamy. All I want is money. Lots & lots of money - but not enough money to make the Forbes 500. Or even the Forbes 1000.

I am aspiring to be an accountant. That's pretty much it. $100k a year w/a nice pension or 401k... I'm aiming for a life w/a severance package.

Ok, so I'm not doing so good w/the New Year's Resolutions... but then again, who actually does?

One thing I've noticed: When I don't talk, people around me feel compelled to fill in the blank, silent spaces. Especially Rob. Rob talks. A lot. I mean, the guy won't shut the Hel up. And my coworkers seem to feel that I am a penance-free confessional. Yeesh. I think I may have to start talking more again, just to get people around me to be quiet. I've also found out that if I am quiet, even when I'm looking right at the person who's talking to me, they think I'm not paying attention to them... even when I can get both eyes to look at them at the same time. So I have to nod, say 'Uh huh' or 'Yes, yes, go on'. It's a strange little social experiment I've got going on here.

I also haven't managed to listen to 3 new artists this month, but I've at least listened to 1. And they're not exactly 'new' new, but they're new to me, which was the point of the whole resolution to begin with... the Afro Celt Sound System. I got 'Vol 3: Further in Time' because it had vocals by Peter Gabriel & Robert Plant. But by the Gods... the 4th track on the CD, called 'Colossus' is the closest thing to an expression of joy that I have ever heard. It's very Celtic, but... for one, I listened to it the first time in the shower, which was a mistake. With the steam & the hot water, I was pumped up to the point of near-fainting due to over-oxygenation... and I started crying, and I was being forced to dance all at the same time. Which is a very dangerous thing when you're in a dirty bathtub that is like a slip 'n slide. I almost fell & cracked my skull open, which would have actually been ok to do at that point because I probably wouldn't have felt it... I mean, this is one of those songs that makes you dance. You have to move. If you try to stand still & listen to 'Colossus', you will probably end up having a Grand Mal seizure... I think I was actually happy for about 4:46 minutes. It's like a drug. The whole album is pretty fantastic, but I can't get past 'Colossus'. I keep going back to it, over & over again. It makes me happy.