Worthwhile Endeavors

Often, we hear people say to each other, “It’s not worth it.” This phrase is used in many contexts:

·         “Yo, bro, she’s not worth it,” might be translated to:

o   “It’s not worth putting forth the social and emotional effort to make a connection with this woman because she will not give you the results you desire.”

·         “He’s not worth it,” might mean:

o   “It’s better not to get emotionally involved with him because his lifestyle habits are sure to break your heart in the long run.”

o   “It’s not worth putting your heart and soul into someone who cannot reciprocate your feelings.”

·         “Lol it’s not worth it,” could mean:

o   “It isn’t worth attempting to explain your point of view to this person because they will not listen.”

o   “It’s not worth taking time and effort out of my day to provide you with information you could easily find yourself when I know you won’t appreciate it.”

o   “It isn’t worth deliberating political ideologies/religious beliefs because you cannot see past misinformation and falsehoods to accept empirical data and facts.”

·         Other uses include:

o   “It’s not worth looking for food in that part of the forest because the only thing that grows there is poison oak.”

o   “It’s not worth looking for psychedelic mushrooms in the woods because the best ones grow on the edges of open fields.”

In all of these cases, you will notice that there is specificity. What is the thing someone wants to and why is it not worth doing? I think today’s society has begun to drop the specificity from this phrase, using it vaguely to avoid confrontation, discourse, and engagement with other people socially.

I recently commented on a friend’s status on Facebook. She’s going through a difficult time; her baby daddy is an alcoholic and she recently ended the relationship with him, she’s pregnant with their second baby and the dad is still living with her as a roommate because she works herself to the bone to provide for the house but doesn’t make enough money to support herself and her babies alone… There’s a lot going on in her life and I find myself doing everything in my power, in my own busy life, to support her and offer my sympathy, empathy, advice, and past experiences for her to think about.

I will not deny that I have a specific set of life experiences that my friends do not and, in some ways, this gives me an advantage in perspective. I strive to use this to others’ advantages, as well, by providing insight and information where I see opportunity. My hopes are that when I am incorrect on any topic, someone will correct me with the same level of respect I provide.

In the status upon which I recently commented, someone else commented, “I’ll pray for you.” I’ve seen this many times as well and have come to realize that it is a highly unhelpful thing to say to someone who is going through a hard time, especially when they have expressed specifics of their hardship and left open ways in which others can actually offer assistance. So, I clicked reply and said, “Curious: How is that helpful?” I was prepared to be ignored or even to have a response come from the commenter along the lines of, “Mind your own business,” or, “It’s how I show support.” I would have accepted a multitude of different answers or even no answer at all, but the response I received was from relatives of the person I’d asked, none of whom saw fit to actually answer the question and all of whom thought it better to use sarcasm and intolerance when conversing with me. The exception was the person to whom I’d asked the question; she remained calm and detached throughout, ignoring my question entirely while chiming in a couple of times with a witty remark.

Thus ensued a long thread of comments in response to my question, wherein one particular “sister” of the original commenter took quite a bit of time and energy to engage with me and even send me a private message. Her message was one of clear projection wherein she said that my cheery disposition didn’t “fool” her and that I should remain silent any time someone says they’re going to pray. Naturally, she mentioned something about knowing my place…

I responded, so naturally, she had to have the last word, and her last message to me was sent directly prior to her adding me to her blocked list. That was a bummer because I had a pretty good response to her. I’ll include it at the end of this entry.

When I realized she had blocked me and my message wouldn’t go through, I checked my notifications again to see a response to the thread that had blown up due to my question. I clicked the notification and read the response, giving it some thought before typing my own reply. Unfortunately, that didn’t go through either, as the original comment upon which we were all replying had been deleted from the status. The last reply read, “it’s not worth it,” thus, the subject of this entry. My response to such a claim was to ask what, exactly, was not worth what.

I think, in times like these, those who say, “It’s not worth it,” think they are saying, “It’s not worth talking to this person because they won’t understand you,” but are actually saying, “It’s not worth putting time and energy into a discussion if it could change your mind about a subject; conversations are only worthwhile when those engaging in it are already in agreement.” This is a rather abhorrent thought, as it is the kind of thinking I believe perpetuates stupidity and resistance to change and progress.

What perplexes me about her response, in this case, was the fact that I had made a point of commending the person with whom I disagreed. I pointed out the admirability of her ability to stay up for long hours late at night in order to provide support to our mutual friend. That is, after all, no small feat. Naturally, though, as is the case with many discussions begun with pseudo-religious hard-headed zealots, my kindness was ignored in favor of cherry-picking as much as they could find to prove how much of an asshole I am.

As promised, her last message is included here; it told me that my question was completely impolite—at this point, I think we could agree to disagree—and that I’m one of those people who thinks my opinions are all superior to everyone else’s. She then told me that she doesn’t “have time for this childish behavior,” and told me to have a good day while she went off to click “block” on me. My response, which failed to go through due to the block, was as follows:

It's cute that you took so much time already to engage in so much discourse with me when you don't have time for it and you think it's childish. "Curious: How is that helpful?" is an open-ended question that can be answered very simply or ignored. If you're so offended, great, be offended. I am responsible for what I say, not how you interpret it. You are responsible for your own feelings. If I offended you, good; you probably needed it. People need to stop being so easily offended. Have a good day, yourself.
P.S., it's good that you know how to use the block feature on Facebook. Enjoy the hole in the sand you use to shield your head.

A Friend Without Weed...

It is a new year and it has had an interesting start. One of the housemates I’d recently taken in is no longer with us, while the other remains. Here’s the story…

            My Halloween party was a raging success, in my opinion. An old friend with whom I’d scarcely even conversed in our six years of friendship, Pat, showed up to the party and brought two friends, AJ and Curt. Pat and AJ were staying with Curt; Curt was the driver. I had other guests, as well: My best friend Jessica, recently separated from the Air Force; my friend Joanne from high school, recently out of the Army, with her husband and son; my friend Rose, with her daughter and sister; my mom, brother, nephew, and two little boys my mom occasionally cares for… Overall, I definitely had a full and happy house for the party and I feel good for throwing it.

            When Thanksgiving rolled around, I received a message from Pat indicating that he wanted to talk about something. He insinuated that it was important but that he didn’t want to stress me out, so I wasn’t obligated to respond immediately. Immediately curious, though, of course, I had to ask what was up, and so Pat told me that he and AJ were being kicked out of Curt’s place by Black Friday when they’d thought they’d have longer to find a new place to go. He wanted to know if he and AJ could stay with Randy, Persephone, and me. Remembering their demeanour during my party and taking Pat’s word for AJ’s character, I acquiesced easily. I enjoy having people in my home, helping them move forward and get back on their feet. This looked like my next opportunity to do so.

            So, on Black Friday, Curt drove AJ and Pat to my house with the vast majority of their belongings, and they essentially moved into my upstairs art room. It started out great. AJ and Pat were both really cool, really chill guys. We would smoke throughout the day and retain the buzz we’d get and it would be wonderful. Then, Randy started helping AJ out quite a bit, because AJ was more eager to accept the help offered than Pat. Pat would rather work for himself to get what he needs. Already, I saw this difference in character and knew that it could cause problems if AJ, who I knew had been addicted to methamphetamines, were to act like the typical tweaker.

            Well, much to my chagrin, and the chagrin of Pat as well as Randy, AJ did act like the typical tweaker. He started out grateful—ever so grateful, graciously thanking us for everything, from the meals we’d feed him to washing his laundry to taking him somewhere to get something he needed. He was thanking us left and right. Then, he started thanking us less, substituting “Thank you,” for, “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me. I’m just so not used to it…” I wanted to ignore his behaviour and write it off as holiday blues or a seasonal issue. I spoke with him frequently, took him away from Pat with increasing frequency because he showed so much envy toward his friend. I gave him advice and gave him activities to do to keep himself in a positive mood, as well as what to do if he couldn’t get his mood to lighten.

            Christmas started to roll around. On the 23^rd, Pat invited his friend Mr Hat to hang out and Mr Hat paid for us to go to laser tag. After the first game, AJ acted like a little bitch and stormed away, saying he wasn’t going to play anymore because he wasn’t having any fun because he didn’t score as many points as he wanted to. Mr Hat had already paid for AJ to play 3 games and there was no one in the place other than those currently working there who could have taken his place on our team for the games AJ said he didn’t want to play. As it turned out, Mr Hat was okay with cutting his losses on the money spent on AJ’s ungrateful ass; we played one more game with him and he only joined us because we went against a team of equal numbers as ours. He still didn’t have any fun and thus didn’t join us for the third game, which advantageously put us with even numbers and we split into veterans against civilians and had a blast. Later that night, I broke out some magic mushrooms I’d bought from a friend. I thought AJ may have managed to get into a more positive head space since the laser tag, and if not, perhaps the mushrooms would help. I was mistaken.

            At first, as the mushrooms kicked in, AJ got into a really great mood. He let off great vibes that were really positive and I had hope. Then, suddenly, after we’d moved upstairs and were kind of waiting for the shrooms to really take effect, AJ suddenly got up and left the room in a huff, as if he were angry. He entered not long afterwards and filled the room with the vilest, most violent, most vitriolic vibes one could imagine coming from a person. It was horrendous. It made my heart sick. It made me want him out of my home because I didn’t want that kind of energy permeating the environment in which I am raising my child. He left the room shortly and I felt relief, which I expressed to Pat, who asserted that he felt the same way. It was a long night, during which Pat and I essentially took turns babysitting AJ during his tumultuous trip. It was not nearly as pleasant as it could have been—my own high was absolutely magnificent; Pat’s high was great as well; only AJ had the problems, but his problems extended onto Pat and me. I wish I could have just sat back and enjoyed my trip like the stereotypical hippie I represent when I eat shrooms.

Randy and I took Persephone to my grandparents’ house in Roy for Christmas Dinner on Christmas Eve; she opened all her presents from my dad’s side of the family. We went home that night. AJ had recently received a great many presents from his grandparents, who were quite nice people and got on with me rather well. He had a large bag full of nice socks, a new pair of shoes, and a nice button-down shirt, as well as a new pair of jeans. He acted as grateful as could be when he opened the gifts, but soon it was as though he’d never received them and had absolutely nothing.

Pat and I couldn’t smoke with AJ without feeling him harsh the vibe. Even when AJ thought he was chill, he was far from it. His chill factor didn’t exist. It had, at first, existed, but it had evaporated like water under the springtime sun the longer he stayed with us. I took Pat’s sister, Nick, with me to Walmart so I could spend the $50 gift card my mother got me for Christmas. I got a handful of colouring books, gel pens, colour markers, and a 100-pack of Crayola coloured pencils (they turned out to be a rip-off; nearly half the colours have twins, so there aren’t even 100 different colours). AJ wanted to use the gel pens, which I was generously allowing Nick to use with me while we coloured. I declined him permission to use anything other than my old coloured pencils that reside within old pencil boxes that are in immaculate shape, as are the pencils themselves. He wasn’t happy with that. He was ungrateful to use only the pencils; he wanted full access like Nick had, even though, as Gizmo himself pointed out, I wouldn’t even have let my best friend use the pencils I’d offered AJ until I’d bought those new colours.

I pondered for a while. Finally, before Nick and Mr Hat went home after the new year weekend, I approached AJ in the living room, which had been designated his space since no one was using it and he needed to be by himself for a while because no one wanted to be around him. I sat down and talked to him and let him know that he needed to get his attitude and behaviour straightened out that day, or he would be put out. If he could get his attitude and behaviour under control, then I would give him until the first of February to find a job and have a start date, to have everything lined up for school including having applied for and been accepted and thus have a starting class date, or both. He wanted to know why I was giving him a push but not Pat. I told him that Pat was proving that he was doing what he wanted to do to make money, and Pat was grateful for everything, while AJ really needed to get something going for himself as soon as possible or else I didn’t think his behaviour would get better. I forgot to mention it at the time, but I also wanted to tell him that I would no longer be supplying him any weed, due to what my dad told me about it not helping him get over his addiction or his addict mind-set.

After Nick and Mr Hat had gone home, I took Pat into my study to smoke a bowl because I didn’t want AJ walking in on us while we smoked and I knew he would if we were to do it upstairs. I wanted to have a peaceful smoke session without the guy there to harsh it. Randy came in while we were smoking and said that AJ had asked if we were smoking because he felt left out and alienated. I told Randy I’d talk to AJ later that night or the next day, but that I’d forgotten to mention that I wouldn’t be smoking with him anymore when I’d spoken to him in the living room. Randy left the study and, unbeknownst to Pat or I, told AJ that Pat and I had something to tell him later that night or the next day. AJ proceeded to come to the study, tell us Randy had sent him to us with words of how Pat and I had something to talk to him about. So, I had him sit down, thinking that Randy had sent him and that I was getting pushed into something at the wrong time and knowing that it would blow up badly—all the while, hoping it wouldn’t…

I didn’t even finish my first sentence when AJ tried to cut me off. Pat wouldn’t let him. AJ stormed out of the room. It went a little like this:

I began along the lines of, “So, I talked to my dad, and he said that for you to be doing any mind-altering substances, it isn’t good for your recovery as an addict and I feel like I’m not helping you by supplying you with weed—”

AJ interjected: “So, I’m going to stop you right there,” and Pat stopped him with, “No, you’re not. She wasn’t even halfway through her sentence and you cut her off.”

I sat quietly. The interaction between AJ and Pat was brief.

AJ: “If I can’t smoke here, I won’t stay.”

Pat: “That’s on you. Seriously, dude, this was my last ditch effort to help you. I’m done!”

AJ: “Good. I’m done, too!”

With that, both of them left my study. I followed because I heard the sounds of AJ throwing his belongings around the room upstairs as well as throwing them down the stairs as he prepared to leave. I let it happen. Where he ended up from here was his responsibility, not mine. I had done everything in my power to help him and he hadn’t actually taken any of my advice. He hadn’t listened to me at all. Pat and I came back to my study to finish smoking the bowl we’d started in my Rasta-coloured elephant pipe. Then, I heard AJ’s voice directed at Randy and I knew that Persephone was on Randy’s lap. AJ did not sound calm or collected; he did not sound in any way the way that one should sound when speaking to another. I certainly didn’t want my daughter near it, so I mentioned to Pat what was going on and we agreed to kill the elephant upstairs. I took Persephone with me when I went and closed the door to get her away from the negativity. I knew it wouldn’t last, but the conversation between Randy and AJ did.

Soon after I’d taken Persephone upstairs, I heard AJ blatantly mocking me to Randy, disrespecting me to his face, and I went downstairs to confront him, ready with the words on my lips to tell him that he had exactly two minutes to get the fuck out of my house with all his shit or I’d call the police. Randy stopped me, cut me off, and sent me back upstairs so he could try and play nice with AJ, although at that point I was 1000% done with the guy and I wanted him out of my house as soon as possible.

He stayed that night, went out the next day and caught the bus to wherever and bought a gram of weed. He brought the weed home and said it was an olive branch, a peace offering. He had made no apologies to me. He had made no amends. I wanted nothing to do with the plant he’d brought back, as though he hadn’t heard me at all when I’d said I wouldn’t smoke with him anymore. He stayed that night, too, but he was gone the next morning. Tuesday, January 3^rd, I was rid of AJ and it was as though a rainbow shone on my house the day he left. It was glorious.

I’m glad Pat stayed around. I’m happy to help him and he’s happy to have help. He is grateful for all that he has and all that he is given and it is extremely refreshing.

Finding the Ground

Roots. They grip the ground. They keep plants in one place and provide nutrients and everything needed for the plant. In order to have roots, you have to have ground, and moving seriously uproots me, sends me into the air. I feel like I’m tumbling through the air, trying to land and figure things out again. We moved into our house at the end of August, this year. It took me until yesterday, December 16^th, to unpack my box of trophies and trinkets that have always resided in my bedroom. Now they reside in my study. It’s awesome. I have my bowling trophies on the windowsill, I have the engraved plate my mom bought for me on the shelf above my monitor, right next to my awesome, new jester frog. My study is fucking awesome, now, and it took me until now, halfway through December to Christmas. It feels like I’m settling down as I put more boxes in the attic and find homes within my house for more of my belongings.

            Plenty has happened in the months since I last wrote. I realize now that I need to forgive myself for not writing more often. Forgive myself for taking so long to unpack and get everything set up. Frankly, though, I didn’t want to write blog posts from the living room, anymore. I don’t like moving the furniture on the carpet because the carpet is really thick and even the chairs, as light as they are, don’t move very easily if I try sliding them. The apartment floor was much better for it. I’m so glad to have my study set up so I can blog not only with a monitor and a computer chair where I can see everything on my screen clearly, but also so that I have a secluded space in the house that is my own, where I can get away from everyone or select my company. There is only one chair, and it is mine. No one else sits in it. I plan to make my altar next to the window in this room. This is my space. The only things in here that aren’t mine are two of Randy’s books on Tao, because this is basically the book place of the house and they look good on my shelf.

            My trash container is a party cup. Literally a black Solo cup that sits on my desk and holds a few small things and is nice and discreet. I don’t have to change trash bags or cart things in and out of the room. I can take the cup out, toss it, and grab a new cup to bring in for trash. It’s wonderful. I bought new speakers, a new monitor, a new tablet—everything is fucking great. I can’t wait to actually start using the tablet, but I’ve been really absorbed in the Sims 4, lately.

            Two friends are staying in my art room until they get on their feet and can get their own place(s). I have yet to hang my dragon posters because I want to swap the locations of the hutch and what Randy thinks is a carrion cabinet. If it is a carrion cabinet, it’s very simple and has a large opening and single shelf in the large area for maybe a TV and cable box, I would imagine. Either way, I want to switch the walls on which these pieces of furniture currently sit, and put Persephone’s TV in the “carrion cabinet” and the hutch against the wall next to the front door. My battle dragon can hang over the hutch and the cliff dragon can hang over where Persephone should put her riding cars away, next to the fireplace. I plan to hang my other purchased paintings along the walls in the stairwell to the art room.

            Today, I read some articles. One was about the effects of alcohol on babies while breastfeeding. The other was about Mick Jagger having a new baby at the age of 74, with a woman by the age of 30. The breastfeeding and drinking article started out by saying that imbibing in a few drinks during the holidays will not necessarily result in anything negative with the nursing baby. It then went on to say that mothers should be conscious and aware of how much they are drinking, however, as getting drunk while breastfeeding is generally frowned upon for many reasons that have nothing to do with how much alcohol gets into the breast milk. As far as Mick Jagger having another baby… Well, that’s for another blog post, but my point here is that I’ve managed to pull away from the Sims long enough to get my brain working and creating ideas based on my experiences as they relate to what I’m reading. It is also immensely helpful to have the two friends I have staying with me. They provide socialization and while I have gone through more marijuana over the past month than I have in practically the past two years, it has been a pleasure to have them because I have started to find myself again. One friend, I’ve known for the past six years, since the end of high school but prior to the start of the military, pays attention to things far more than I’m used to people paying attention, particularly about personality traits and the like. He has helped me recognize, again, who I am. Who I have been. He’s helped me put some of the pieces together.

It Is Time...

The Evergreen State College is the only school I’ve read about and attended that can help me achieve my dreams. It is true that I have true aspirations and I have given them up for other endeavors, including my attempt at becoming a security officer through Securitas.

            Had I been able to stay awake without trouble, I could easily have done the job as transit security. I am a capable woman. I am strong and powerful.

            I choose to take this experience as a lesson. It is one that has taught me that it is time for me to make myself a priority. I am an artist. I enjoy drawing, painting, and writing. I want to make my life about drawing, painting, and writing, and there are things I can do to make money that will not cause me suffocating anxiety.

            The American Heart Association can certify me as a First Aid/CPR/AED trainer and I can make good money training people. I can pay to get a teaching certificate and work as a substitute teacher, though it will behoove me to complete my Bachelor’s Degree. A degree, I can get from The Evergreen State College and I can teach classes related to those that I am taking in school. I am a good teacher; many people have recognized this about me.

            I have a world of potential being wasted by my mental illness, but I cannot lie down and simply stop living—no matter how much my depression holds me down and I want to give up.

            This blog entry may sound determined. It may sound uplifting for me. But, the reality is that just before writing this, I wanted to die. I simply wanted to stop living and give up, fade away into the dust. What saved me was a drink Randy bought for me.

            The drink is designed to reduce stress and I’m surprised—happily so—to say that it works. I will definitely be needing more of them. Or, perhaps I need to get back into taking my St John’s Wort. In reality, if I hadn’t had this drink, I would probably still be in bed, where I spent most of my day today sleeping out of depression.

            This drink has managed to assuage the monster that is depression just enough for me to realize that it is up to me to get up in the morning and fight. Fight for a clean home despite the depression’s crushing weight that usually keeps me from lifting a finger to better my situation. Fight for a healthier, toner body, despite depression’s suffocating ability to keep me in a chair for hours upon hours at a time. Fight for my dreams, which I can follow best at the Evergreen State College. Fight to create—create and post to Patreon works of illustration, writing, and even photography.

            I’ve said it many times: It’s time for me to get up and take my life into my own hands. It’s time for me to stop seeking structure from an outside source. It’s as Lucifer himself said to me: I create my own path in this world and there is no one who can hold my hand for it, for it is my own. Healing is not linear, but I am on a healing path and that is what is most important.