Funerals are a huge scam.

Goals: This Year

• Pay off student loan.
• Save enough money to move.
• Do shitloads of yoga.
• Thoroughly understand Buddhism.
• Get better at painting.
• Get a working holiday visa for Ireland.
• Get a driver's license.
• Tone up.

Goals: Lifetime

• Bike around Ireland.
• Train across Europe.
• Learn the following languages: German, Italian, Greek, Spanish, Danish, Dutch, Finnish and Swedish.
• Buy some real estate and build my house. Most likely Seattle. 
• Buy Mother a house in Aruba.
• Take paternal grandparents to Norway. 
• Adopt African boy and Iranian girl. Raise them to be both athletic and genius.
• Live in Australia.
• Live in Dubai.
• Get a degree in something. Likely medical.
• Volunteer in Africa.
• Visit as many countries as possible. 
• Act in the Canadian Forces as a reservist. I'd quite like to be in the infantry.

Prayers don't do jack shit.

Goals: Three Months

• Don't fuck up good healthy eating.
• Get full time, good paying work.
• Exercise every day.
• Get a credit card.
• Get some work experience in sound.
• Glory events.
• Write a couple songs.
• Lose ~15 more pounds.
• Get better at piano.
• Learn more music theory. (memorize circle of fifths/keys/chord progressions)
• Finish two paintings.
• Design new bedroom.
• Look into driving lessons.

Breaking up is hard to do. Just as hard as loving you.

My mum usually spends the weekends at her boyfriend's house. She used to bring him over once in a while but my brother outwardly dislikes him and I don't laugh at his jokes so she just goes there now. He's 38 and has never driven a car in his goddamn life. He has no intentions of getting a license. He lives cheque-to-cheque and couldn't save a penny to save his life. Recently, his ex girlfriend decided to move in with him and his roommate, claiming that she is now a lesbian. And this is supposed to be okay with my mother. Whatever.
I'm expecting my mum to come home sometime on Sunday, but she walks in the front door on Friday night. I guess they fought and she got pissed and left. Kay. Now it's Sunday, and my mum's been in her room all day, and she comes out at about 5pm to say "My boyfriend broke up with me on the phone." She looks at me for comforting words but I'm silent for a good thirty seconds before I come up with "He's a manbaby anyway, who needs him?" I'll never be good at this kind of thing. She calls my grandmother to tell her she's coming to pick up my brother and I can hear her giving my mum a hard time on the phone as she is audibly choking up now. I offer to go with my mum, and this perks her up a bit. Dealing with my grandmother is a often a traumatic and stressful event, on a good day. We get my brother and come home. My mum goes to her room and I cook dinner for myself and my brother. She cries to someone on the phone.
I will never fucking understand breakups. Because I think a breakup with this specific man, or manbaby, would be an ultimately liberating gift from the Universe. Though, I've never known love like anyone whose had their heart broken. And there lies the rub. I can't fathom why people cry over things they can't change.
It's like in junior high, and someone would call you a bitch online and it would be reeling in your head for days. It's like a thorn that tears a hole in your thumb. It bleeds for a bit, but you wouldn't cry. And it takes a few days to fully heal, but until then, you will feel that little sting when you touch something and when you feel it, you remember that thorn. Then soon it's gone for ever. From your thumb and from your mind. Now why can't a breakup be like that? Why does is linger for longer than a couple days? Why cry about it?
My favourite concept I've come across in my studies of Buddhist philosophy is that you effectually responsible for all of your own suffering. Which can be disheartening, but upon further reflection, you realize that since you alone cause yourself to suffer, you can go on to void yourself completely of such strife. I wish I could explain these ideals to people in person, but I find myself sounding like a babbling infant when I try to speak. I want my mother to understand this. Though I do wish the foolish manbaby would disappear, and my mother to be happy, I know he'll be back soon. It's just the way it happens with these sorts of things. I always thought you would need to break up once to know for sure that it's over, but this is not so. Everyone breaks up. All the fucking time.
The only redeeming thing I've seen him do is buy my mum a ring from Tiffany's that she said she loved for Christmas. It was the wrong size though. They have a Tiffany's in Vancouver so when she picked me up in January, she went to their store to see if she could trade it in for one that fit. But they didn't have it. The man at the counter said he would take it and order the right size and get it mailed to our home.
Fed Ex is coming tomorrow. I have to be up before noon to sign for the package.

The Monkeysphere

• So I really like this website called Reddit. People just post things they find interesting and everyone else looks and makes comments. Some people will tell the story of their fascinating profession, or talk about some insane event that happened in their lives and then they answer people's questions. Yesterday, I read one put up by some guy somewhere who said he's made the decision to kill himself on Monday. I read another one by some other guy who has had lymphoma for years and has decided to legally end his suffering with the assistance of a doctor, also on Monday. Both cases could be completely faked for attention, of course. Reading through their stories and responses to people though, they seemed pretty legit. Anyway, I've been fascinated but a lot of the replies these guys have gotten from random people. Everyone wants to save the suicidal man, and some of the suggestions are remarkable. Such as "Why don't you sell all your things, take the money, fly somewhere random, live off the land, travel, or join the French Foreign Legion and get a new identity?" Unfortunately for this, suicidal people do not think rationally. However, this fascinates me as a person who doesn't quite mind being alive. I don't think I could ever do this though. I couldn't leave everyone I love that quick. I suppose if I had no one to love/no one loved me, this would be easy. Back to the post, everyone says all these things this guy should go do to fall in love with life. And while I quite believe it's been wasted in this poor man, it has made me more appreciative of the life I have. The other guy with cancer talks about his regrets and makes several enlightening comments. I find myself marveling at the things that the human mind can create when one's aware of their existence coming to an end. I am greatly motivated to get a lot done this week.
My favourite comment out of those posts was someone saying something along the lines of "Do you remember anything from the time before you were born?" This implying that there is nothing when you die. Now I can't even begin to believe there is any kind of afterlife. Heaven and hell is pure bullshit. I identify mostly with Buddhist beliefs and essentially, lives are reused over and over until Nirvana is attained. You could live a multitude of times, all in different forms. Your main purpose as an entity is to fill up your tank on good karma. That's cute and all, but I don't want to live more than once. Unless I happen to win the birth lottery next time around, but I'm way too much of an asshole for that so my hopes are low. All I can hope for is that my life ends where it does here on Earth. One of the best motivational things I've read talks about how billions of years passed before most people were born and billions will likely pass after they die. You spend more time not existing than you do being on Earth. It's one of the only statements that has driven me to try and maintain my own happiness as much as possible.

I laughed at this for far too long. I should probably go to bed.

Side note: It's only funny if you read it in a gangster black man voice.

The Bystander Effect

So here's some thoughts that have been circulating my brain as of late:

• "I'm so lonely and detached from humanity. I think I want a baby" -has mortifying dream about giving birth- "Hahaha, nope."
• "I live in a dump. Literally, my basement could be on Hoarders. I could actually cry right now."
• "Kaylee, get a job. You lazy fucking fuck."
• "I like having goals. I like achieving them. Let's make some goals."

Now I'm going to talk about my dreams from the past two nights:

• I was getting ready to give birth to my second child. I was panicking and thinking I would not live through the process, even though I had done it once before. Wtf. Anyway, I'm in a bare concrete basement, sitting on one of the ugliest dorm room, egg chair-type things and facing a small tv. And I'm having a dilemma wondering what I should be watching as my child is born and what the first thing on television they will ever see might be. But I wake up before I even find anything and I never give birth. Yay. 

• Now, I'm in a passenger in a car getting chased by police. So my car pulls over and apparently the cops are really after this madman who is just running on the side of the highway. The madman plants himself at the front bumper of my car and leaning over the hood, he points a gun straight at me and tells the police if they don't back off, he's going to shoot someone. The cops have surrounded him and aren't budging. I realize that I'm the only person in the scenario who can hear this guy. The madman is still aiming the gun at me but he's looking away so I jump in the backseat. There's some other boy, my age, in the backseat already and he jumps in front to where I was sitting. I supposed he didn't see the gun. The madman returns his gaze to the front seat and shoots the boy in the chest. Then it goes to a part where the boy is fine, but he has bandages over his heart. And I'm having a moral dilemma because I'm ultimately responsible for him getting hurt. I like to think I'm the kind of person who would have taken the bullet so no one else would have needed to. Beyond that though, I never told him that the madman had a gun and was going to shoot before he switched into the front seat. I might have even told him to take my place, knowing he would be shot instead of me. So that's me being an asshole in my dreams and I really hope I wouldn't be that awful in real life.