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There’s this whole obsession with beauty and relationships and guys and girls, like, “It’s OK, someone will find you beautiful,” or, “Every girl should be told by a guy at least once that she’s beautiful.” You know what? Screw that.

I know that some guys find me reasonably good looking (or whatever reasonably above average means). But I also know that I dress with the aesthetic sense of a 10 year old boy… that I always smell like sweat and dogs and chicken shit because my backyard is a small farm… that I have all the grace of Bambi on ice (which is to say none at all)… that I have an aggressively prideful personality (I despise guys who try to help me when I don’t need it)… et cetera.

And what I want to know is why on earth do some people want to convince me that having a boyfriend is important? I don’t know how I could possibly attract any guy when I don’t even know how to carry my purse-bag-thing without feeling awkward. Sure, I find some guys admirable, or even attractive, or even cuddly, BUT I’m totally fine with them dating someone else as long as the girl’s a decent person. People act like I should be upset when someone that I have acknowledged as having attractiveness value becomes taken and I’m like, ‘is it wrong to be OK with people choosing whoever makes them happy?’ Because I know that I sure wouldn’t be able to make anybody happy. It would take an almost perfect guy to make up for my weaknesses and if he’s really that good, then he should go make perfect babies with someone who’s his equal, not waste time chasing the kind of girl who wishes that nose-picking were more socially acceptable.

If personality and all that stuff is considered in a beauty rating, then I’m ugly. And I don’t care. I don’t care that I’m not attractive enough to be anybody’s girlfriend because since when has friendship been a second class relationship? I get honestly angry about this because I feel persecuted. I ‘have’ to want a relationship and if I say that I don’t, it means that I’m ‘in denial’, because ‘GOD IN HEAVEN FORBID THAT A BOYFRIEND NOT BE ONE OF MY PRIORITIES.’ OK, so that’s false attribution but keep up with me, OK? Like, ‘Hi, I’m a mild heterosexual, not a rabid one. I HOPE THAT’S OK WITH YOU.’

And this is exactly why it’s so frustrating. The more I try to convince people that I don’t need their advice, and that I especially don’t need advice designed for people who actually want a relationship, THE MORE THEY BELIEVE THAT I’M ‘JUST IN DENIAL’… and it goes in a vicious circle of frustration and ingrained refusal to believe me.

I honestly don’t think the problem is with me. Like for Christians (and others who believe in God): don’t you guys have anything better than to do? Read your scriptures! Yes, love is important, but love is not what you think it is. Maybe a small part of it is companionship, but it’s so much more than Go Forth And Multiply, OK? For those of you who don’t believe in God: your brains are capable of programming computers and useless but immensely, absorbingly interesting things instead of just the useful, survival-related stuff. Take advantage. All of you: put your energies into something other than fussing about attraction.


Serving in church


When people talk about leadership (or what we like to call servanthood) in the church, we often picture someone who is kind, understanding, organized in thought and in habit, a model of self discipline (at this point, I’m just describing this one guy that I know and I think that some of the people who kind of know me might be able to guess whom I’m describing)… and I could never, ever, ever be that person.

I mean, I get that all Christians are supposed to aspire to be the kind of person that you would see doing coordination-ish work in the church like planning out Bible studies or checking in with people who seem lost or out of it. I think that maybe I just enjoy often irreverent, sometimes inappropriate humor and other less-than-godly forms of down-to-earth-ness too much to be such a considerate, organized person.

For example, I’ve always been a very negative person. My eyes are drawn to things that aren’t right. Once upon a time, I would kick people and throw things over those things. Now, I specialize in carefully crafted, verbose rants. It’s not that I don’t enjoy goodness, nor that I can’t see it, because I do. Show me someone that I know, and I can tell you what I think is good as well as what I think is bad, but it’s extremely rare that I both know someone and have nothing bad that I could say. And even then, that in itself is bad (people who are too good are often intimidatingly unapproachable).

There’s another side to being negative. Imagine that positive people are very colorful. Well, I am grey. (I actually really like that color, by the way.) I can’t gush about everyday things if I don’t mean it. If I do, I get that fake-ass hearty tone like Harry Potter does when he’s trying to sound like he’s not being consumed with resentment. If I really feel a certain way about something, I will spell it out but if I don’t, I won’t. Seriously, this is what happens when someone offers me food that they’re crazy about: “It’s deLICious, RIGHT?” “Erm, well, it’s… good…” “You don’t like it??” “Well, I do like it; it’s all right, that’s all. Er, just, don’t mind me.”

That’s really what it’s all about, with me: I’m all about expressing myself only when I mean it and only how I mean it. I’m sorry, I enjoy sass, whether it’s M calling James Bond a misognistic dinosaur, gifs on Buzzfeed of NeNe Leakes throwing shade, native Americans making fun of missionaries (sorry but real talk is real talk and it is FUNNY), or Tumblr being Tumblr. So I will indulge in sass myself. Unfortunately, being sassy is not a very humble thing to do.

At the same time, I doubt that God would prefer that I dress myself in a fake personality. I try to keep me real, and I can handle getting called out when I’ve done something wrong. I don’t always change because changing is hard, and it’s even harder when people don’t tell you how to do it. But I try to process the feedback and be a little better, without snuffing out the semi-rebellious independent streak.

An entitled person perceiving herself as suffering


I was in a bike accident by myself. I mean, there were a lot of causes but it’s probably more the bike’s fault than anything else.

The thing is, though, that I wish I had hit my head.

People say that I’m really lucky that I haven’t even chipped a tooth. They say that God must have been watching over me. While I agree that God was watching over me, I don’t think that he did it as some special service. I’ve had a lot of close calls. I’ve fallen off a moving ATV. I’ve fallen asleep at the wheel. I’ve hit a divider on the highway because I didn’t change lanes soon enough. Actually, when I drive, I have this weird feeling in my chest, like I just want to let it fly beyond my ability to control it, like the car will fly into the dark abyss that is the night sky and carry me somewhere all the things that don’t really matter that are stressing me out will disappear, leaving only the things that really count. Anyways, I’ve had a lot of reminders that I could die any time and that I’m being held in reserve for something that I don’t see yet.

Isn’t that how it always is? You don’t die until it’s your time.

In the mean time, my dad rushed to the hospital to make sure that I was really OK and wasn’t just saying so. I know I couldn’t live with myself if I made his worst fears come true. I don’t want to do this any more, though, because I have a really strong feeling that I can’t. Just like your body forces you to sleep before you die of sleep deprivation by making you hallucinate and stuff, I think that this whole ‘vicariously’ living from midterm to midterm, paper to paper will result in me getting myself kicked out before it really becomes too much for me to handle.

Because of my experiences, I have this perception that everyone who looks put together on the outside, walking on the street, chatting with friends, playing with their dogs… I think that inside, they’re also falling apart. And they’re not falling apart because Grandma died. They’re falling apart because some small thing is gnawing at them. Maybe they’re also worried that everyone sees their social ineptitude and finds them selfish or plain annoying, and that’s why they front so strong like they don’t care. Maybe they’re addicted to the internet and hate themselves for it, and want to be free of it. Maybe they hate their successes and wish they went for something that they were actually interested in. Maybe they have so many things that they want to do, like reading 10 books a week, like learning a new sport, like reliving the time that they felt like they could do anything, like writing a story… so many things and they can’t do a single one of them or feel obliged to abstain. I don’t know. It’s how I stop myself from going all the way to the thought that I’ve been set up to be miserable.

I’m dragging my feet through life. I’m supposed to be young, but I feel old. And the reason that I feel old is not because I’ve been through so much but because I’m just atrophying away. I want to be energetic, smile and make faces without caring if I look stupid, and make something myself. Instead, I’m just withering away and there’s just one thin strand of sanity left. It’s strong because it’s founded on all the right things, but it’s weak because there’s not much of it.

I’m not always this way. A lot of times, I’m straight up elated. But right now, I’m in the dumps about something stupid, and I can’t unwrap myself from the thought. And I feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to be depressed because somewhere out there, someone is being killed, someone is being raped, someone is terminally ill, someone hasn’t eaten properly for months. Somebody is out there, who would swap with me in an instant, whom I wouldn’t swap places with for anything. Sometimes, I think my family tries too hard to be good to this bitter old-young sinner because how else would I have ended up in a situation where I’m not happy with what I have? Yet it doesn’t make me feel a mite more grateful.

The things that are possible appeared impossible, and the thought made the possible become impossible. Time is moving slowly for me right now, yet it’s also too fast for me because I want it to just stop so I can take a nice, long nap.

Dream 9


I was at church trying to find a room. I don’t remember exactly what happened (why, what was going on, et cetera) but I do remember that a number of rooms were occupied. I think there was something about tables, too, but I’m really not sure.

There was a story or legend about how an orca god bit/ate a red-crowned crane in response to supplication for some reason, I don’t remember the details.
I was on a small peninsula or something by the beach, residing in an enormous mansion due to circumstances (I wasn’t exactly there for my health but I don’t remember why it was my duty to stay). I think the owner of the mansion was some unhinged gentleman. I remember being at the top and looking down, and seeing an islet approaching at unmistakable speed, and watching it come up next to our section of land and connecting but still moving. I think that was part of some kind of prediction, or I don’t know, but I think I had been expecting something to happen when I looked down. I thought there would be an imminent earthquake and said so in a panic to the owner, and he laughed. I went to take cover in the basement floor. Someone told me to get out and get to high ground quickly because a volcano had erupted and the lava was coming on quickly. I came out to look, where a number of people were standing on… I guess we can call it a platform surrounded by black, decorative railing (kind of a floral design, no bars) but it wasn’t actually higher than ground level and it was like a side door kind of place. The lava was rolling toward us fast. As the group of people half-encouraged, half-taunted me (somehow they were safe from it), someone else and I tried to climb the rail in a hurry to get out of the way but I couldn’t move fast enough, maybe because I was panicking, or more likely, because it was a dream. For some reason, the onset of lava didn’t burn my feet and I was finally able to pull myself up and out of harm’s way.
The next scene was at the beach. The lava was starting to cover everything, even the ocean somehow, maybe things were catching on fire, even,  and a big crowd had gathered, praying or calling loudly for the orca god. The ocean broke through the sheet of magma (?) and there was a lot of color contrast between the black-and-red and the tropical blue. It spread into a long horizontal line, filled with breaching orcas in a row. After they appeared, a few bigger orcas appeared in a second ‘layer’ that didn’t spread across the horizon line, or maybe I didn’t see it because I was watching the biggest orca, which had leapt straight out, far out from the ocean and to my right, where it landed like a missile on something that I couldn’t see. I assumed that there was a giant crane there that had been causing everything even though I didn’t know how there could have been. I just assumed because the story. Anyway, I didn’t see what happened exactly because where the orca god landed, there was a giant splash of water that kind of cleared everything away.

That was a pretty exciting dream, even if I don’t believe in orcas being demigods or anything of the sort. It probably came from [link] and [link].

I solemnly swear that I do not play video games or computer games.

The last part of my dream that I remember, I was playing some game. The mission involved infiltration and you had to select a guide. There were a lot of guides, most of them talking like they’d learned sales by working for Borgin and Burkes at some point, and I don’t remember most of them, only that they came in a variety of backgrounds. I went with some character that looked like he belonged in Aladdin. Then it switched to like… live action.
I was quickly equipped with a knife and a gun. The character that I’d clicked on wasn’t the actual guide. Instead, there was a young man who looked like he’d popped out of SWAT (the movie, I mean), except he was from a Middle Eastern country, not black or white or chicano. I guess what was going down would be in a building, so he went first, telling me to keep right behind him. I went much slower than that, deciding to be as silent and as unnoticeable as possible. It was dark, and in the dim light, I could see quite a few soldiers headed for him since he’d been moving faster and therefore louder. Thinking that they’d be distracted, which would give me a chance to jump in, I went for my knife.
But I couldn’t find it, and at the same time, a female soldier had spotted me. This one was a real nasty piece of work. I had my gun in my left hand and a heavy duty flip phone? in my right (I have no idea why). She went crazy on me so that my gun hand wasn’t in a good position to defend me, and I tried to brain her with the hand that held the phone. Which of course didn’t work. She had a knife and was about to slash me up but my guide, who was apparently a much better fighter than the crowd that wanted to see him served on a platter, somehow intervened and we ran straight into a room (which was where we were supposed to be, I guess).
It was set up like a party, with glassware and fancy food on tables everywhere. And we’d brought the full melee with us. PARTY. I aimed at the nearest guy, fired… click. Not too discouraged, I started to try again but B____ found me and started to make Thanksgiving dinner out of me, her first slash being absorbed by my left arm (I remember because there was a ghost-y feeling of a long scratch on it when I woke up). I had my gun in good position, fired, and it popped a plastic cap like cork from a toy gun. This was very frustrating. She snarled something about my trying to shoot her and the rest of the fighting was pretty hazy but it definitely involved more slashing and more frustration because I’d never been slashed before and it f_____ng hurt, which made it really hard to fight her, which I only did because I had to or else she’d make ground turkey out of me. Not that I wasn’t well on my way there already. I gave up on the gun (duh) and it became a very one-sided brawl. Let’s be real now. Amateur that can’t find her knife and can’t use her gun: 0. Professional armed with a knife: 50.
Again, the guide put the majority out of action and found me, at which point for whatever reason B____ wasn’t there to occupy me (maybe I did manage to brain her with a chair, or flip a hors d’oeuvre-covered table over her… I do remember a lot of glass breaking but I don’t remember if that was me or someone else). He said, “You did good!” encouragingly, which pissed me off and I replied something to the effect of, “‘I did good’? That b____ f____ng near killed me, slicing me up with her knife! I had nothing! And this gun doesn’t work!” And at this point, the irrepressible B____ was back.

And I woke up.

Initial thoughts while reading Genesis


The order of creation described obviously does not align with the order that scientists have determined to be most likely. This doesn’t have to result in the unequivocal interpretation that someone has to be wrong between the Bible and scientists. It is hypothetically possible for the history of the world as we experience it to have occurred in the order that scientists have inferred based on unearthed evidence without contradicting the first chapter of Genesis in any way. Much as a writer does not necessarily create his fantasy world or even his story in the order that is experienced by the reader and the story characters, God could have created a world of order and sense—perfect and consistent in and of itself—without the final product showing evidence of being built from nothing. When we read a book, the book was created with paper, ink, and the writer’s thoughts but in the actual words, it doesn’t describe this process. We’re in the book. If we only navigate within the story, it’s impossible for us to know any more than what’s in the story but the Bible says that God made the paper, the ink, the dictionary of words, and strung it all together.

Science is based on logic. However, as any researcher knows, there are very few things that all scientists absolutely agree on. This is because much of knowledge is based on empirical inference and analysis of the statistics of tested theories. As far as we know, all living things follow the same genetic code, from viruses to humans. Why does that prove that we’re all evolved from the same thing? Let’s use a different book analogy. Would it make sense to have to create a new alphabet and language for every book, and never translate them to a common system? It’s possible but it would be a royal pain in the- anyway, illiteracy would probably become an issue and somebody would throw in the towel and get translating. We standardized the US dollar and other forms of currency pretty quickly, and for some people, it’s their job to figure out how many pesos to a pound. God could choose to have a bunch of different classes of living things that are operating on entirely different systems, but the simple ACGT system would probably be both more sensible and more interesting. I mean, how big of a mindscrew was it when people realized that every living function was based on 4 molecules in 2 exclusive pairs? People have an interesting penchant for arrogance, and realizing that they didn’t even have the longest, fanciest genome was probably a little upsetting. And then they started trying to figure out how we do all this fancy stuff like philosophizing, engineering, and experimenting-with-stuff-we-don’t-actually-understand-like-radioactive-compounds (not one of our brightest moments) that no other organism does when we aren’t the most genetically complex organism in existence.

Then there’s the little issue of Occam’s Razor. Logically speaking, I disagree that it proves the superiority of Darwin’s explanation over mine. Except maybe that people like to keep things simple, sort of like how we weight negative experiences more heavily than we do positive experiences. This is usually where it becomes a standoff. I honestly consider Occam’s Razor a convenience rather than a real, good idea. Species go extinct much faster than they evolve beneficial adaptations. How does it make sense that an entire network of interdependent ecosystems sprang out of a simple unicellular system that would have kind of worked OK without evolving fancy multicellular organisms? In that it’s physically possible, or the ‘how’ of things, I get the role of Occam’s Razor but in terms of probability and, gee I don’t know, entropy, the simplest explanation is absolutely insufficient. Life, in terms of the science of it, is about fighting off the tendency towards equilibrium (death). Then what’s the point of living when it’s nothing but a dragged-out battle against the laws of physics? And how did we complex, ordered beings get here if the laws of physics are pushing everything towards simplicity and chaos?

Obviously, this string of argument doesn’t lead to God the creator. It only demonstrates, or at least attempts to demonstrate, that what we learn in science is insufficient to explain life, no matter how far we pursue it. However, it’s a starting point. I don’t have to prove that I’m right to believe in God if I can reasonably dismiss those who would prove me wrong.

OK, now that I’ve talked about my own ideas a bit: WHY is WordPress going all Tumblr and stuff? I’m not going to stop using other websites even if there’s one magical website that does everything the other sites do and more.

Daisy Coleman


Most people want to have fun, whatever that means. Sometimes, they think it means drinking alcohol. This is clearly incorrect but who would believe otherwise when surrounded by people who do buy into the hype? It’s not her fault. She was a stupid teenager; we’ve all been there. Why else would people bicker about what minors should or shouldn’t be allowed to do and how much they should be held accountable for? Lots of minors sneak out all the time without raping or getting raped.

I’m not saying that she doesn’t have any responsibility for getting into that situation. She could have listened to her family and kept a friendly distance from that boy. She could have chosen not to sneak out. That’s all true but don’t you think that she’s had those thoughts over and over and over and over again? Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, she has been tortured enough? [←sarcasm here] Apparently, that boy’s allies don’t think so. Who in their right mind would burn somebody’s house down?

These people are even validating that boy’s actions in his mind. He seems to think that he did her a big favor by “giving her the D”. I can’t begin to comprehend the hazing if I don’t first assume that they don’t have even one tenth of an iota of a clue what they’re doing.

When we talk about rape culture, the mindset that justifies rape, we shouldn’t simply state that rape shouldn’t happen and leave it at that. We need to acknowledge that it will happen as it has happened for much of history. It’s like driving. There’s a big difference between legal driving and defensive driving. Should we be able to assume that everyone else will drive properly? Yes. Will they? No. Trying to convince everyone in the world that 1) they should not rape and 2) they should not blame the victim is really impractical. Does that mean we shouldn’t teach people around us? No, we should still try. But instead of engaging in open war between those who say Down with rape culture and those who say Down with short shorts, we should be focusing on teaching everyone that 1) rape is not OK and 2) that even if you can reel off a laundry list of the victims’ choices that beyond reasonable doubt could have prevented the crime, THE CRIMINAL IS STILL AT FAULT. Actually, if the criminals fully realize that they did wrong and that they deserve punishment, that’s really for their own good as well.

Chinese folks


I’ve noticed something from 武道狂之詩 and City of Darkness. They make very boxy, frame-by-frame reads for the most part, and there’s way too much narration. Seriously. They all read like, “In the moment that Protagonist and Adversary’s eyes met, they realized that here was a true warrior and worthy opponent,” or, “Supporting Standalone Fighter couldn’t hold out much longer, and the Herd Of Minions knew it/but the Herd Of Minions didn’t realize it yet.” The artists don’t take risks with the format. Instead of trying to draw the emotions, which is actually not that difficult to most people who otherwise draw no better they do, these Chinese artists write them. It’s almost as if they think that attempting to dive deeper into the artistic side of their profession isn’t worth the bother. The drawings are extremely good but the restrictive structure drags down the product as a whole.

Chinese people are really good at copying skills from outside sources but too often, they don’t understand it or don’t really try to.

I work with kids from China, and I’ve seen them play piano, play violin, sing, dance, whatever. For classical music, they tended to pick flashy, fast pieces but the execution lacked finesse. For pop, they sang like they were at a karaoke.

I didn’t think it was possible for an energetic young man to fail in performing Backstreet Boys. What you’re supposed to do is to sing loud and out of tune, hop up and down, jog between random points on the stage at random intervals, and point at the audience every time the lyrics say, “you.” The kid revved up the crowd… “ARE YOU READY?”… I was totally ready to be entertained… and then he started pacing the stage like a first-time father in the waiting room in a 60s sitcom. He didn’t even let himself go out of tune.

After I wiped the stunned disappointment off my face, another young man started locking. To JS and Hyuna’s “Trouble Maker,” no less. His teachers, two young ladies, leaned over to whisper to me that he was a top student and a good dancer to boot. As an avid Youtube watcher, I imagine that it is feasible to lock to Trouble Maker and do it right, but he did not do it. He completely ignored the track and really just showed off that he knew how to produce the movements of locking. Trouble Maker is far from quality music, but it’s fun, it’s slick, it’s sassy, and dancing over it instead of with it is like taking Parvati Patil to the Yule Ball and talking to Ron the whole time instead.

That’s pretty much my experience with how Chinese people deal with the arts. They want to know the right way to make it work, but they’re so into the technicalities that they completely miss out on making deeper connections and really understanding it. Some do connect but they’re usually the people who don’t buy into whatever everyone else buys into. It’s really sad how the majority of the Chinese people that I meet are kind of mundane. I know that there are interesting people at the mainland doing some really incredible things; it takes a special person with both passion and patience to rescue the hordes of animals in need and to fight for the humane treatment of them in a society that incorporates animal torture in pornography, and there are many mainland Chinese who do precisely that. But the Chinese people that I meet here, in America, are often disappointingly absorbed in accolades and evanescent material things.

And I guess that’s true of many people. I was reading in the New York Observer the other day that people are blowing huge amounts of money on artworks based on who’s the hottest artist, and calling themselves patrons of the arts. The true connoisseur waits for the right piece to come along.

It also probably has to do with what kind of people would come to the US. They usually have some money (or at least their parents willingly give them the money), and they’re usually here for the, er, economic benefits that they can gain from a trip here. SF is called the old gold mountain in Chinese because historically, the US represented economic opportunities for Chinese people. The interesting people who want to make a difference are the people who want to start with the things they see in front of them, which is back home; they’re not going to engage in escapism in some other country that they don’t actually care about.

As for the arts, I think a large part of the stiffness is due to the whole mentality that the “new China” culture is infused with. They’re trying to figure out how to carve out a place for them among the world powers, beyond being the place where everyone has their stuff manufactured. They want to win the Olympics, they want to win music competitions, they want to make an impression. They just happen to be going about it the wrong way. You know the German guy in Those Magnificent Men And Their Flying Machines? That’s China right now.

So will they figure out the game or won’t they? I hope they do.



Why do many GoodReads users spend so much time regurgitating a lengthy summary instead of describing how they liked or disliked the books? It may be easier to write like that but I don’t know who these people are and I’m not interested in how they may personalise the synopsis with their favorite turn of phrase. I want to know if I might like the book or not. If there are dozens of posted reviews, each one starting out with “In __, this happens to Main Character, and then Main Character does that,” ON TOP OF the posted description, I think all site visitors have a good enough idea of what the story is about without anybody adding even more of that, plus I still don’t know if I want to read the book or not.

A summary doesn’t tell me whether or not a book is worth reading. There are millions of ways to write love triangles, rivalries, magical adventures, et cetera, and not all of them are good. What does the author’s voice sound like and did you find it to your liking? Are the unexplained bits and potential inconsistencies insignificant or are they ripping giant holes in the plot? A good review picks these sorts of questions to answer. A crap review is what happens when someone figuratively passes a book through a digestive tract without any mastication or digestion whatsoever: nothing of value is extracted and what comes out is a soiled version of the original plus a lot of hot air.

Dream 8


There was somebody really horrible trying to kidnap a little boy that I tutored before. I couldn’t touch the person no matter how I tried to stop it so I tried to get the boy to come back instead. He was under some sort of trance so he just kept following the person. I wrapped him in a towel (it was an almost prehensile towel so I could do it at a distance) to get him out of range, and I accidentally asphyxiated the boy in the process. I went into shock and thought about calling the police but before I could do that, I ran into the boy walking around. This really confused me. I asked him if he had a little brother who looked just like him only smaller (he couldn’t really in real life since he’s adopted) and he said yes, so I went back to being horrified. He suggested we unwrap the towel and then figure out what to do. What I unwrapped looked a lot like a glassy eyed doll but I guess he was the little brother. As I moved him to unwrap him, he moved on his own and slowly came to. I was so relieved.

I wonder if it means that I’m scared that I’ll hurt somebody that I care about if I put up a fight?

Or maybe it’s related to the kitten triplets. The first one died on the surgery table. The kitten shrieked and sunk his claws into my hand (and he’d been napping there very quietly right up to when she put the needle in). I tried to put him down but his claw had been completely hooked into my skin. Then he went limp and I unhooked myself. She said, “I think we just lost a cat.” I gasped, “What?” and grabbed a stethoscope. I was horrified but I didn’t dwell on that. I didn’t know anything except that speed was everything. I could hear a faint heartbeat so I tried to keep things moving to save the kitten’s life; I didn’t know what to do but I asked for instructions, which were to grab fluids and epinephrine. It didn’t work. I remember thinking, “What do we do? What am I going to tell the owners?” I felt a very strange combination of horror and resignation. I didn’t feel guilt, though, because I’m not the type to register guilt when I know it’s not my fault. In my dream, I knew I was at fault so I had that same feeling except with guilt mixed in. I’m not afraid of the police nor the courts, or whatever consequences anybody assigns me, but I’m afraid of the thing itself that can’t be undone. The kitten doesn’t feel a thing any more, but the pain of a loss can’t be erased by any punishment.

Well. There were other dreams last night/this morning: at somebody else’s house, there was a table in a private room that had a bunch of decorative things on it, like electric candles with realistic flames, and since the person had company coming, I helped set up by grabbing odds and ends and making them look festive in the dining room or something. (I know, sentences are not freight trains but you’ll forgive this one, right?) That’s all I remember.

On teacher tenure


Some people were born knowing that they wanted to be a teacher. Some people were inspired to become a teacher. And SOME people are incapable of finding a higher-paying job so they game the system. Yes, Matt Damon, it’s a poor salary but it’s much better than nothing at all. Believe it or not, even if teachers are paid much less than you are, they’re much comfier than some “menial” no-brainer job. Why do you think most STEM kids go into research or private companies while schools place well-meaning but non-stimulating P.E. instructors in math teacher positions? Because they can and it’s a rare one that wants to spend his or her education teaching trigonometry instead of engineering the next famous bridge.

Yeah, ReasonTV phrased it badly and the cameraman stepping in was a stupid move but this is about the kids, OK? If the teacher’s really decent, the parents aren’t going to sit back and let the teacher be fired. Look how much America loves its petitions! There are so many scumbags getting paid to teach that a good teacher who’s been laid off for financial reasons should be able to replace someone who’s unfit to teach.

Using big, fancy words doesn’t make somebody particularly intelligent, either. “Intrinsic paternal-“whatever, what is that, code for Big Brother? I mean, I do think it’s very pretty phrasing and I’m sure Matt Damon’s a sharp guy but for those of you who are geeking out over it, SHUT UP. If you had half a brain, you’d be actually joining the discussion, not fangirling over “He’s such a boss!” Feel free to take the part of whomever you will but please, it’s hard to take someone seriously if that person doesn’t have a real opinion beyond starry-eyed admiration for the actor. Anybody could have said what Matt Damon said. It’s as if you think that just because he’s an actor, his frontal cortex should be only functioning half the time. Guess what? He’s not Zoolander. You should expect no less of his intelligence than you would towards anyone else.

Honestly, this annoys me and I’m going to class now.

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