Love is not enough.

I try to donate blood as often as I am able to. You have to wait 56 days between each donation and I mostly make an appointment within a week of being eligible again. I went yesterday and I was at the clinic for an hour and a half. This shit is supposed to take 20 minutes. The clinic I went to was pretty busy and full of old people, but the issue was more in the fact that every single test I had to take barely met the minimum to donate. To start, I had my hemoglobin checked three times. First two times it was 124 then lucky number 125 finally showed and she let me through. I've been taking iron capsules for four days so I don't know how that's possible.

I moved on to the questions, and went in the little cubicle to get my blood pressure and temperature checked. Temp shows barely minimum. Blood pressure shows incredibly low. Nurse says go eat and drink and I'll get you in 15 minutes. Fuck.

So now I've been here almost half an hour and the nurse checks everything again and everything shows I'm good to go. Then she asks how much I weigh. I tell her and ask what the minimum is and she says 110. I cannot understand how someone could think I weigh less than that but given the fact I barely met everything else, I'm not surprised she asked.

I wait a bit more and I get put in the chair. Needle's in, blood's coming out at a good pace. I'm done in fewer than seven minutes. What the fuck? I always take hardly any time to fill the blood bag but my vital signs show that I'm barely alive every time I donate.

I've basically become a gym rat with a number of supplements I can just barely keep track of and I eat a healthy diet. I'm 20. I should be fit as a fucking fiddle. It's like my negative attitude, my nihilistic philosophy, my constant state of irritability, and overall spiteful consideration of people manifest themselves in my physical state. My blood is black and hardly moves. I wonder about the people who get my blood transfused into them. If it even works. If they get it injected and the doctor says "Well, looks like you might still die." I wonder if their moods swing suddenly into a dark realm of bad intentions or if all at once, they feel like they're 30 years older than they really are.

It's kind of funny how before I donate, I usually feel like I could pass out if I stand up too fast or like I can't get a good grip of the earth below my feet. But I get the needle in and the blood pumps out and I feel revitalized and feel so much more alive than before. It's like my blood is bad and toxic and getting it out makes my body better. It blows the smoke out of my brain.

Most people donate blood to be good people and perform their human duties. I do it for the entirely selfish reason that I like the needle and the euphoria from getting the blood removed. And this makes it almost evil.

Hiding backwards inside of me.

I beat my machine
It's a part of me it's inside of me
I'm stuck in this dream
It's changing me
I am becoming

The me that you know had some second thoughts 
He's covered with scabs and he is broken and sore
The me that you know doesn't come around much 
That part of me isn't here anymore 

All pain disappears
It's the nature of my circuitry
Drowns out all I hear
There's no escape from this
My new consciousness

That me that you know used to have feelings
but the blood has stopped pumping and he's left to decay
The me that you know is now made up of wires
and even when I'm right with you I'm so far away

I can try to get away but I’ve strapped myself in
I can try to scratch away the sound in my ears
I can see it killing away all my bad parts
I don't want to listen but it's all too clear

- The Becoming - Nine Inch Nails

I need a touch-up.

I often put lists of goals and things I want to do in the near future on m blog but I never really get around to doing them. So this is a list of things I'm actually either currently doing or are certain to do within the next three months. Real talk.

• Complete portfolio application for ACAD by Friday, hopefully Thursday.
• Gather images for tattoo. Find artist. Make appointment for first two weeks in May.
• Get another septum hole.
• Go to Grand Fucking Cayman on June 1st.
• Get scuba certification. Do online course before last week of May.
• Acquire beach body by May 31st. Tell sugar to go fuck itself continuously. 

Suck it in

We barely remember who or what came before this precious moment.
We are choosing to be here right now.
Hold on, stay inside
This holy reality, this holy experience.
Choosing to be here in this body.
This body holding me.
It's my reminder here that I am not alone.

Twirling round with this familiar parabole.
Spinning, weaving round each new experience.
Recognize this as a holy gift and celebrate
this chance to be alive and breathing.
This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality.
Embrace this moment. Remember.
We are eternal. All this pain is an illusion.

Parabola - Tool

All you know about me is what I sold you.

I am makeup and hair dye

I'm pierced metal rings

I'm eyelash and eye lined

I'm ink under skin

For whatever reason, I keep getting jobs in places that I hate within weeks of working and want to leave. Most of the time the job itself is fine but the people I work with are what make me spiteful of work days. There are few things that make me feel greater than working out my budget, and knowing I could leave my job at any time and still have enough money to live through to August when I move. I don't really want to leave my job though, because I like to work and have something to do. I could always find another, but I'll be gone for all of June so it would be futile to start another job hunt now. And that's what's keeping me going. I'm going to work these last two weeks of April at the very least. Then I have one month to go before I go away for a month. To see my family and spend some time on a Grand Cayman beach. I don't know if I'll work through May. It really depends on how I get treated at work these next two weeks. My awesome manager is leaving to work somewhere else and the owner of the restaurant I work in is seeming to be quite the prick. So we'll see. I don't need any references from this shit hole so I'm pretty excited for the day that someone fucks with me once over my limit and I can walk out at the busiest time possible.

Prying open my third eye.

A life is the single most valuable boon you will acquire 

in your time and it's given at the high cost of death.

I try to live the right way so I can be happy. But that usually means making friends, being social, fostering relationships and generally doing good things. I've tried these things, I really have, but I just hate people so much.  I worry that I judge people too quick and teach myself to dislike them before really knowing them, usually over one single stupid thing they might have done. I realized at work that the one asshole I venomously hate is actually despised by everyone, so the idea that I judge people on a different level may not be so true. I think I might hate people as much as everyone says they do, but most people keep it inside while they trod along to their little gatherings. I could just be extraordinarily hostile. I always wonder why I hear from so many people who go to bars and nightclubs that they hate the scene and the crowds. Well why the fuck are you going? I can't say I'm innocent of this behavior and my reason is usually "my friends were going so that's why I'm here." I've heard this a million times from myself and from others. But now I see how miserable it makes me and I'd rather stay home. So I do. Then one day I decide to accept an invitation out, to try and expand my social life outside of my work place. And I re-learn why I fucking hate going out and being around people.

People who are nice will ask you what you do, where you went to school, where you're from, what kind of music you like. But it's such vapid and underwhelming conversation and it happens in every social gathering. I wish people would shut up and leave me alone but it makes people feel so fucking awkward, and it sucks. I always find it hilarious how talking about how much I hate people really stirs up some quality conversations that I actually enjoy having. I get the illusion that maybe I really do like being social. But somehow it always gets fucked up.

Some guy I've had a decent conversation with can't handle me saying "good night, see you around" without having to confess how attractive they think I am and how they would totally be into me if they were single or younger. I just don't fucking get why people do this to me. Like every secret in your weak little booze-soaked heart needs to spill out into the world for me to hear. I'm trying to figure out what it is about me that gives people the idea that I need constant reassurance that I'm not ugly/stupid/fat/undesirable. When I've been drinking, all I can really is respond with is "thank you for the kind words" when all I should say is "it's all make-up." Because I'm not really me. I didn't put any work into being born, I just was. There was no effort on my part put into the structure of my odd yet somehow appealing face. I'm not thin because I work hard at it, it's just genetics and youth. People compliment me but I can't take it seriously because if people knew how I really am, they would never say things like that. They'd realize all they're doing is informing me of my existence, which I'm already plenty aware of. I don't put any work into being a good person, I don't work on improving, I ignore relationships, and I don't make anything with purpose. I have nothing to be proud of. Anytime people mention these things to me, I just see someone trying to be a hero and feel awesome for making me realize I'm not as gross and awkward as I must think I am. Because since I'm so quiet, it must be because I have zero confidence. There's no way it could be because I don't like bullshitting with everyone.

Life handed us a paycheck and we said "We worked harder than this."

This is going to be a rant and will not be very exciting to read. Work has gotten me to the point where I'm very close to the brink of losing my mind. Yesterday was one of the worst work days I've ever had. Just a constant flow of rude pieces of shit sort of people. There's a server at work who nags me every fucking day for something. I think it's hilarious that literally everything I do pisses this guy off. They're always things that aren't even in my control, and I don't know if he realizes this and just dislikes me or he's just fucking stupid. I usually just ignore him because he's a shit-stain but I refuse to take it anymore. Today wasn't so bad, I had been at work for maybe ten minutes and sat one woman in a table when he mumbled something about me ignoring his tables. The bitch didn't want to sit in his section. Not my fault. I just imagined suffocating him with plastic and felt better and avoided him the rest of the night.

There's this busser chick who things she needs to tell me every week that I should fold napkins because there aren't any left. BITCH, I DO THIS EVERY SHIFT. I think she realized today how infuriated I was with her because she spoke pretty meekly today and is usually more forceful. I've gotten pretty good at making people know how few fucks I give when they're talking to me.

A woman came in for dinner yesterday. She had a reservation for four and I went to seat her and she outright refused the table I offered. She waltzed around the restaurant and asked if there were any other tables and I said no, they're are people in all of them. She walked back and forth and kept pointing at tables that were way too big for her group or could only seat two people before she finally demanded a specific table in the nice part of the restaurant. A table set for six. She made us remove two places from a massive table for her group of four. You cannot even fathom how much I wanted to choke this twat. Then when the rest of her group came in, the server told me she said "Look what I did!" These are the kinds of people that need to fucking die and never exist. This wasn't even a real problem, it's just the fact the people like this are allowed to live in the world and be selfish and shitty for no reason.

So much inane shit has been going on in my life and it's all colliding into a train wreck inside my head. Yesterday, I couldn't find my phone all morning and I screamed and yelled before I figured out where it was. It all came together today when I was getting ready for work and couldn't get a grip on an eyebrow hair that needed to be plucked. I went into my room and punched my dresser as hard as I fucking could. It was the only way I could get all my emotions out. It's like there is no other way to be angry for me. If there's anger I need to let out, I let it out on myself every time. It keeps other people from seeing how really mentally crooked I am. I just can't be angry with people. I thought it was something I should learn how to do but I'm scared I'll go too far and really lose everything. My job, my friends, my sanity. But I don't want to have to resort to hurting myself forever.

I want to do terrible things to you.

" If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good, and the very gentle, and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too, but there will be no special hurry. "

- Hemmingway 

She wears the leather; I wear the makeup.

I've decided to apply to ACAD. I'm satisfied I've made a decision and found a program that looks almost perfect, save for the cost.  But I'm a bit terrified about having to be an art student. I'm going to be honest, I generally do not like people. An art school like ACAD will be plentiful of the personalities I find most deplorable. There are a few big reasons I never went to study theatre, even when it was my most preferred creative outlet for two years in high school. There are egos abound and it's something I could not see myself being strong enough to suffer through for the years it would take to get a degree and then in the time it would take to find a satisfying career. I went to school for a year in another passion, made about five friends instead of thirty and ignored the egos of people I never had to see again after a few months. I haven't made a career out of what I studied but it's okay because I have a very specialized knowledge that will always make me feel somewhat accomplished.

I work in a restaurant, where at least four of the servers are "actors" and one is 40 with a degree and is an accomplished playwright. Every day is a horrible broken dreams assembly that has only served to aggravate my itching desire for more education and a career that will make me money and make me happy. The guys I know who are actors are pretty awful people and make me overjoyed that I never went to theatre school.

Now the trouble in my future is that the dense population of socially inept and overly self-involved characters that you find in theatre is very alive in the visual arts. I remember art class in grade 10. The teacher was a cracked out space case and my best friend stole my concepts, so yea, I didn't continue. I'm not a good artist on paper but I can pull some very effectual concepts out of nothing. I could really make a living if I got my skills up to par, which would certainly require years of study. Many artists like to just make things that look nice without translating any sort of ides or information and these are the kinds I don't get along with.

These are people who think everything is beautiful and worth noting. I don't understand this notion. If nothing ceases to be beautiful, how can it be valuable? How can it be really worth looking at if it's the same as everything surrounding it? Why is it bad for things to be ugly? I understand being optimistic and seeing perhaps the good in everything, but no, beauty is not inherently existent in whatever you see. Then someone will say "But beauty is in the eye of the beholder! It's all subjective." Fine. I can agree with that. But I can not take anyone seriously who thinks every rusty lawn chair, or ivy-clad brick wall needs it's picture taken and story told. Some things are just ugly. I contend that most things are. I don't think there is beauty in every person. The "everyone is beautiful" bullshit needs to stop being perpetuated because it is not helpful. There needs to be more emphasis on that fact that being seen as beautiful is not a validation for happiness. Being seen as ugly should not make someone depressed. What you look like without the add-ons is how you were born and it doesn't deserve personal praise nor abuse. Being pretty is not an achievement. If you're ugly, just be an ugly fuck and be great at something else. I don't see posters that say "Everyone sings like a classic-trained soprano." It would make everyone feel great about their singing voice, but it wouldn't be true. Saying everyone and everything is beautiful is shit and devalues real beauty. This kind of thing makes it easy for art students to create acclaimed pieces from overall garbage ideas. But then again, that's just art. 


In the end, I hope none of this is really true of the art students I'll meet at ACAD. I think most of my harbored resentment comes from going to art classes in school for years with a close friend who consistently got great praise. She was amazing at execution but my concepts had a lot more depth and thought then hers did. All I learned was that most people only care about what looks nice.