I’m sure things are better, somewhere

I just did two things: watch My Sister’s Keeper and listen to a Black Ice spoken word.  In the spoken word, he says “we live in a beautiful world that ugly souls control.” Or something like that.

I have so much on my mind at all times that even sitting down to write this can be pretty overwhelming.  I haven’t done laundry for 3 weeks and I live at home.  I really don’t know what I have been doing these past few weeks, because it doesn’t seem to have been productive in any way.

TV sucks me in.

Internet spits me out.

I am really digging this new artist I discovered through Californication called Blind Pilot – best song is 3 Rounds and a Sound.  I feel like I should be writing some feelings down here, or something, but it’s always pretty hard for some reason.  Whenever I go to write a blog I automaton to like, “this is what I did today, isn’t it interesting?” NO I know it’s not interesting, but I keep hoping.

I need to start writing things I care about.

So… moving in that train of thought, I wrote this on the bus today.  It was just kind of spewing of thoughts.  I find that all of the things I’ve posted on this blog so far have been kind of… uh, offensive? I don’t know haha.  I guess I just feel offensive lately.  It’s pretty easy to get tired of being politically correct, don’t you think so?

“I am not the sort of person that believes in feeling sorry for yourself. I don’t think that drawing attention makes you any more important or believable.  You are not a character in a popular Hollywood film, you are a teenager in mid-sized suburban town a half hour away from Toronto.  And yet, and yet.

There is so much to say for all of us, even the ones that drink to keep away the boredom.  We are here through miraculous means, whether you believe them to be religious, disgusting or otherwise, we are here.  Whether or not this matters, whether or not we do something in the world is completely up to us.  But it is our time to stake a claim – we’ve been talking of nothing else all these years.  We are privileged bastards, fearing nothing, expecting everything and wanting our own standards.  We always have enough to eat because we feed on the egos of the weaker.  We create problems for ourselves, steal cars, cut into our skin, inhale substances that the 70s have seen and pushed forward that make us imagine the shit we wish we could do.  But it would all come from a little bit of self-determination.  If sniffing drugs and having sex is all we have to say for ourselves then we can’t do anything because nothing in our minds says we can.  If we write truthfully, do good deeds, sacrifice ourselves, then the world will change to accommodate us, or we will make it.

There is only so much you can complain about until you realize that half of the world doesn’t have access to pornography, or the computers upon which to view it on.  There is only so much you can expect until you realize that people actually DIE for the things you own just because your parents love you.  There is only so much you can complain until you realize that this obsession with the “good life” is not helping you, it is not turning you into a better or more interesting person.  It just makes you a whiny little bitch.

“But mom, I want a car for my 16th birthday,” has become a tv show instead of a reason to beat your kids.

“I hate you!” has also become a tv show instead of a reason to beat your kids.

And if you’re getting the wrong impression here, I’m not advocating “child abuse” to our politically correct society that would chastise me at a moments notice for doing so – I am telling the parents to be parents.  I am telling you that you cannot give material things to your child if you do not give them understanding or empathy.  I am telling you that if you have not taught your child to spare a few bucks to a homeless man, and instead they are dragging your ass to the toy store again, to sit them down and tell them this:

The world is made of good people that don’t know how to break free of their money.  But no matter how much money you make, I make, or the president makes, our income will not dictate our happiness, no matter how much the banks and stores try to make it.  Your capital is the understanding of the simple facts: love everyone strongly and unconditionally.  Do not be afraid to be betrayed.  You will betray others and you will get over it.  You will bend and flex with relationships because you don’t know whether they’re worth it.  Sometimes they’re not.  You will grow up to be a grown up but that doesn’t mean you have to stop taking bubble baths.  When you grow up, learn that helping people and giving is better than receiving.  To see a child happy is infinitely more rewarding than a new game console.  In fact, learn this now.

Learn that people don’t always tell the truth although they sometimes mean to.  Learn that human life is precious and transitory and should be treasured until lost.  Learn that senility comes to all and how to bear it with grace.  Learn that childhood should not be thrwarted with responsibilities but encumbered with imagination and creativity.  Learn to speak eloquently.  Learn to listen openly.  Learn to breathe slowly when bad things happen.

Learn that you don’t have to yell to get attention.  And that everyone else yelling will soon run out of breathe, which is when, my darling, which is when you kill them with your kindness, not your cash.”

Lately all I’ve been feeling is ennui (ŏn-wē’, ŏn’wē): n.  Listlessness and dissatisfaction resulting from lack of interest.  I told someone I had been ennui-ish and they just looked at me funny, and although I realize that ennui-ish is not a word, ennui is, and I AM NOT CRAZY.  So here’s a definition.

I get like this during this time of year, but it’s exam season, what’dya want?!

Tomorrow I am drinking after work, mmm drinking.  Today was 6 months since my grandmother has passed away and it sucks so incredibly much that I can never write about things like that so I’m not going to.

This was a sufficiently long post, maybe I’ll start writing things of substance eventually? What do you all (nonexistant readers) think?

That’s what I thought.

Ciao. Arina.

PS. Real question now: when you guys were kids, did you not shoot back those little creamers and milks that come with coffee and tea at restaurants? Back in the USSR my grandmother used to buy packs of them for me and that’s how I got my daily calcium intake.  I did that at work and people looked at me like I just turned into a baby-eating leper or something.  And then I got a “Well, I can understand that from an Eastern European perspective.” comment, and I’m like wtf?  Why you gotta go all racist on my ass, motherfucka?  Lots of people do this shit…

RIGHT?!

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