WTF? So I’m sitting here waiting on the laundry as I do every Saturday night because it’s the only night I can do laundry without pissing off Psychobrat (for now, at least). But my parents also do laundry on Saturday for the same reason, and it’s usually in there all damn day. So just now I said, in a perfectly calm and rational voice because I was not pissed off, “Dad? Did you get your clothes out of the dryer?”
“Yeah,” he said, “but you could have found a nicer way to ask.”
“What?” I said.
“I just don’t like how you asked the question.”
“What other way is there to ask the question?”
“I don’t know, I just figured from a journalist, you could have found a better way.”
…??? What did I do wrong here!? I don’t understand! And why is it suddenly about attacking my chosen profession? Somehow things always end up attacking my chosen profession when it comes to conversations with him…that’s why I’ve changed my mind about half a million things I wanted to be in the past. Fuck, it isn’t like I’m not self-conscious enough about it.
I start back to work tomorrow, and school the day after that–full-time for the first time since December. I’m a bit anxious. No–I’m very anxious. And the only reason for that is because when I lack free time, it gets me really worked up inside.
I’m not going to see The Mormon for two weeks if he can’t get out of his class on Friday. That doesn’t really sound like a lot, but I just didn’t want to let go of him when I left his house tonight. I almost felt on the verge of tears. I’m PMSing. It makes me overly-emotional.
I’ve been reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I don’t honestly like it very much. In fact, there have been several occasions when I have nearly thrown it across the room in frustration and given up on it. But now I only have about 54 pages to go and there’s no way I can quit it now. I actually found this quote in it that I like. From the 1974 Bantam paperback edition:
p. 220: You go up the mountaintop and all you’re gonna get is a great big heavy stone tablet handed to you with a bunch of rules on it.
I thought it was funny. But here’s something interesting–while checking the publisher on the spine, I noticed the word, “non-fiction”. This whole time, I didn’t realize this book was non-fiction. Suddenly I have way more respect for it. Seriously. Now that it’s almost over.
Actually, it taught me something. I was reading in it about the philosophies of David Hume vs. Immanuel Kant, and it totally reminded me of in Yellow Submarine, when George keeps saying, “It’s all in the mind.” Suddenly I realized that that was what it was referencing, was Hume. That line never fully made sense to me before; I always knew there was something deeper behind it, but I didn’t quite get it. But the next day I watched the movie again, and when George said the line, I really got it. In fact, this time it was laugh-out-loud funny.
See, George is driving Ringo’s car back and forth in front of him, and Ringo is trying to prove that it is his car with a description, and he says he knows it is his car because it is red with yellow wheels. The horn honks, and suddenly it is blue with red wheels, and George says, “It’s all in the mind.” And it was really funny this time.
To further that topic, this morning my parents were looking at photos on the computer and arguing about red-eye, and finally Mom said, “I’m not seeing the same thing you’re seeing”, meaning, from the conversation following that, that it looked different to her because it was an old computer screen and he was standing up tall and she was sitting directly in front of it, so the picture looked blurred to him. I said, “It’s all in the mind,” and thought it was profoundly clever; I don’t think they heard me, but I managed to amuse myself.
In other news, the other day I actually experienced sleep paralysis. When I woke up at first, it was really sudden, and I found that I couldn’t move. At first I thought it was just that being too tired to move thing, but then I realized that I literally could not move. And then I noticed that my chest felt heavy, like there was pressure on it, and I was having trouble breathing. But I knew exactly what was happening, because I’ve read so much about this before, since I already experience hypnagogic hallucinations from time to time. I warily opened my eyes to see if there was a hag sitting on my chest, but nothing. And suddenly I was aware of how frightening that sensation must be, just because you couldn’t move. I think the reason I didn’t hallucinate was because I knew what was going on. So I kind of just laid there calmly and let it wear off and didn’t worry about it. Then, when I could move, I freaked out and started kicking my sheets around.
I went to my 9:00 a.m. meeting at work yesterday in pajamas to make a statement. “This is what I think about 9 a.m. meetings,” I intended to say. I don’t know if they got it.
Dann told me Sandra isn’t coming back. I am so going to miss Sandra; she was such fun to tell stories to.
This is a super-long entry, so I’m going to end it here.