My Playlist for the end of 2007

We watch the ball drop on another year at the homestead here in the Bozone MSU campus. As always, I intend to stay up all night and have an evening of fighting myself over having another year passed. Personally, my life seems to pull itself away from those I love and that causes stress. I am tired as always.

Tonight I heard something again, but for the first time, it made sense. My wife was talking to her mother on the phone and mentioned something that was so profound that it was hidden in the monotony of every day speech. Her words were "I was going to clean the house... but I'm just too tired to even try." Something I have heard from her many times, but until today, it seemed to be conjecture about the day. To see it more clearly was an excuse to be comfortable.

Well, if anyone has read my blog before, one can see I am always tired. Perhaps its the poor diet of crap and soda that makes me sluggish. Perhaps it is the extra half of a full grown person I have in my stomach. Perhaps it is the lack of exercise that I get in an average day. Perhaps it is the crash from sugar and caffeine. Or perhaps I;m a lazy fat ass fxxx who should've died 21 years ago from a severe Asthma attack that made my lips turn blue until some fool gave me a remedy in the emergency room... I think that is how it happened, I'll have to ask my mother about the details. Perhaps I should've died when my friend crashed his fathers Nissan into two mailboxes. Maybe I should've died when I made a new driveway with my Chevy Corsica and a barbwire fence looped around the front of my bumper. Maybe I should've bit it when i wrecked into the sod farm sign next to the driveway that i made for that person on the corner. They needed the Jaws O' Life to get me out of that one. And yet I persist. A tired mass of shxx that apparently doesn't pull his weight enough around the house and deserves to be teased by breaks "where I don't have to lift a finger." Like I lift a finger anyway.

If we could have a dog in our apartment, we would have a dog house. If we had a dog house, I would be in it, and if I were in the dog house, Miss Pearl would make sure I was stuck in it with all 300 pounds of me and set it ablaze like the Fourth of July. So, in short, moving to a place that allows pets would bring me that much closer to having a patriotic barbecue of axxHxxx that is so well done the dog gets a new house and a char broiled table scrap of butt cheek. I have spoken my opinion and I forgot that being in a relationship is like being in AA. "Hi, my name is Ryan (Everybody: Hi, Ryan) and I... gulp... am a husband (low clapping) It has been 4 months since my last decision. I had a moment how ever, when I had an opinion or two and failed to call a sponsor to talk myself down until the urge subsided. The doghouse is very small and hot, especially when my wife pours a bag of Kingsford over the kindling and barricades the door shut. The dog will be fed however. Thank you." The free coffee gets distributed, I hug a fat man's bitchtits and remain the Instamatic husband who seems to do things to himself without his knowledge.

So, I've been listening to Linkin Park tonight. I always can go to a few choice songs on Meteora and they epitomize my feelings about things. The lyrics are raw, simple, and colloquial and they match my spirit on this foul night. I have four songs looping currently in a particular order that seems to speak to me more than a million Tolstoy or Dostoevsky novels ever could.


Linkin park - somewhere i belong

Tom | MySpace Video

The first song is an obvious angst song. It starts with an inverted acoustic guitar riff, adds a pulsing musical osstinato and bursts with a harsh forte of sound. It dies and starts the vocals:

When this began,
I had nothing to say, and I'd
get lost in the nothingness inside of me,
I was confused,
then I let it all out to find that I'm not
the only person with things of mine
Inside of me
But all that they can see is the words revealed
It's the only real thing that I've got left to feel
Nothing to lose
Just stop, Hollow and alone
The fault is my own, the fault is my own

(and then, My prayer, not to god, but to my heart bearer)
I want to heal, I want to feel,
what I thought was never real
I want let go of the pain I've felt so long...
...and find somewhere I belong

I think that this part is played in her head everyday, but she doesn't know the song

've got nothing to say,
I can't believe I didn't fall
right onto my face
I was confused
Looking everywhere only to find
That it's not the way I had imagined it all in my mind
So what am I?
do I have the negativity
cus I cant justify the way everyone is looking at me?
Nothing to lose
Nothing to gain, hollow and alone
and the fault is my own and the fault is my own.
I
will never know
myself until I do this on my own
and I will never feel
anything else until my wounds are healed
I will not repay
anything til I break away from me
(and the part that I wish she would hold)
I WILL break away, and find myself...







This song, for a long time, explained my faith in God for a while, and it brings me to a reflective state.

In the beginning of my anagnorisis to the nature of God that made sense to me, this song crystallized what I was feeling.

the refrain especially
...Everyone is so far away from me...
trying not to break, but I'm tired of this deceit, every time I try to make myself get back up on my feet, all I think about is this, and the tiring time between and how trying to put my trust in you just takes so much out of me.

I used to yell the bridge in my car at the top of my lungs just to see if God himself would be present to catch my plea for his evidence. It's not only a matter of getting God to come out, I found, but it was by searching for him that brought me to where he was... a lesson about God's nature I never forgot.




This song brings us to the past three weeks events. This is my song to her at this point. the first verse was parallel to what I told her a couple of days ago, which has kept me in the burning dog house.

"Tired of being what you want me to be!
feeling so faithless, lost under the surface.
don't know what you're expecting of me.
but under the pressure... I'm caught in the undertow"

then Mrs. Pearl replied
"every step that I take is another mistake to you"

then I wanted to say it. I really did want to explain the theory I have been making in my off time from Lilas and Life. We got the house clean at one point this break. It was nice. However, at that point, the requests and demands to keep the house in working order, I felt, fell squarely on my shoulders. I think that after all this time, she still has no faith in herself to keep what she has started going. That a lack of modivation would keep her in her gloomy disposition. As a result, she delegates these tasks to me, because she knows that there is a better chance for me to finish them than her own lowly ability. She starts to obsess about the details, squeezing the last bit of order out of the way things are, so that she can cling on to the happiness of cleanliness. There are also ficticious appearances of people who are spying on us apperently. I think that if she feels that she can run her own home, she can finally prove to "everybody" that she is worthwile. She tries to validate herself with works and not faith. When she gets overwhelmed, she gets pushy with the nitpicky details, risking aggrivation and hypocracy. I wish I could explain that she is a beautiful woman who just needs to see that her clay pearl is the most valuable thing in my life, and I wouldn't hock it for twice the money to get it back from the guy I hocked it to. having those moments without it while I bought it back would last too long and be torture. But I can't prove that to her, that is a path she must take on her own.

"Cant you see that you are smothering me?
Holding too tightly, afraid you will lose control,
cus everything that you thought I could be
is falling apart, right in front of you.

I know that I might end up failing to,
but I know, that you are just like me with someone
dissapointed in you."

My list is long with people I have failed to take a bullet for, and people who I accidentally shot. Trust me, I've disappointed people. and so have you.



I hope that this statement is not a resolution. I made a resolution to never make a newyears resolution starting the next year when I was 14. I didn't want to change because of guilt, but go a bit deeper and find why I feel guilty. Change the thing that causes the guilt, not be changed by the guilt. That is the difference between surviving cancer of the emotions and succumbing to it.
but anyway. I'll be up until new years starting my plan to keep the house clean. It's an issue of disciplining myself to clean the house when I don't want to. If I wait until I want to; if I wait until Motivation strikes, It will be like standing on stairs waiting for someone to push me down them. In the end you could've sucked it up, walked down the stairs and saved yourself some time in traction.
Madame Pearl has had on a white board in our living room three weeks of planning that she was compulsed to write by that need to bolt down her fleeting happiness. It's like eating your feelings only its with tables and graphs instead of cheesecake. Basically, she gave herself a high pressure ultimatum that caused a lot of stress and strife, and I doubt she is still following it. here is my new solution. I wrote a new three week schedule on the smaller white board on the fridge complete with algebra representation of our house:

this is our house if it was a messy, unresolved equation.

3X^2+ab-30+c=c+ab-x^2+19

week one, solve for zero:
This means just get the house CLEAN! There is a difference between CLEAN and ORGANIZED. I believe the mistress Pearl has been biting of more than she can chew by trying to solve this equation in it's current state. So, I'm starting with the office, and moving across the house. any papers I'm basically organizing into school, music, money, other and trash. Any other Items I plan to place into homogeneous piles of crap and keep them in neat stacks for week two. I'm going to be done with the whole house in a week and as a requirement for that, I have to keep the upkeep going on the house as well. Mrs. P can put in her two cents in the project of course, but unfortunately, I can't wait for her to get the complicated equation to fit into a logical sequence, so I'm just going to set the whole damn thing to zero and simplify it. Sorry honey, I can't wait for you anymore.
After one groups all the crap into homogeneous piles:

3X^2+x^2-30-19+ab-ab+c-c=-x^2+x^2+19-19+ab-ab+c-c

And simplifies everything back to zero:

3X^2+x^2-30-19+ab-ab+c-c=0

upon consolidating and making the house presentable, not just neat, the equation comes to:

4x^2-49=0

Week 2: This is when we can finally organize this stuff. We will look through the piles, and organize anything that is out of place, factor out what we don't need, and then simplify everything into logical patterns. In other words, now that the house has a starting point, we can then go into the things that make everything fall apart every semester.

See our newly zeroed out house become a factored quadradic.
(2x+7)(2x-7)=0

this makes this so easy. Once we start at zero we can make a better system of keeping the sides resolved besides just panicking about the mess. we have a week to put the equation of the apartment to this point.

week 3: solution! the answer to the whole thing is to work when we are tired. Both of us hate this concept because we both have parents who were chained to being busy, out of necessity, and we both have that kind of resentment towards that kind of neglect, even if it was for our livelihood. It also means that we have to be grown-ups and that is a benchmark that we refuse to accept for some reason. For me, it means that the ideas that plague me at night will have to simply be choked down for the sake of the whole and for my wife, it means that she may not have a chance to be an adolescent adult. Her mother saw to it that she played mom to her own little brother and so she didn't get more than a month of youthful reckless abandonment... (which was rekindled a year after that month and my daughter was born.) and I hoped that she would get to be more social, once again, I'll take another bullet and keep her off of my shot-on-my-watch list. Go be a girl, be forlorn and sad. Go have friends, go spend money, just come back and act your age so I don't have to carry us both. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow will die.

That's why this song is the last one. I'm breaking the habit of letting the house fall to hell. "I don't want to be the one the battles always choose, but inside I realize that I am the one confused, cus i don't know what's worth fighting for, or why I have to scream, but now I have some clarity to show you what I mean, I don't know how I got this way, I'll never be alright(or rested for the rest of my life) so I'm breaking the habit tonight. happy new year. It's the first. I've got a lot to do tonight. farewell.

Pavlov

Well, let's assume for a second that there is a dog. A person throws a stick. The dog goes to the stick but doesn't pick it up. Instead, he goes back to the person. The dog gets a fist to the muzzle. The dog then goes and gets the stick. The person then beats him with said stick. Both ways this dog has learned that he will be beat, but one is with a stick and the other is with a hand. He will choose which pain is easier to deal with and continue to be beaten by that preferred method. As well as that, he will ultimately not want to play fetch...

I didn't finish the dishes last night. Big deal, I've got 3 days off and today is the first of those 3 days. I decided (after I forgot (caught up with getting my investment out of a video game, I'll confess.)) I intended to wash them as well as straiten out my study in my apartment. So I left the stick in the field... I'll get it later. 9:00 rolls around. My wife calls me and tells me that I've been snapping at her as of late. I see it the other way around. Her mother was visiting and for some reason her mother has a sway over my wife's emotions, that and I think my wife is a biker. By that I mean she got on her menstrual cycle and ran me over... At any rate, she asks me to do the dishes, sort the laundry, hide the dirty draws and make rice for a dinner I wouldn't eat; she had to sweep an clear the table, make shake and bake (and I was too busy to help).

A day before, I was bathing my kid when my kid defecated in the water. I have a queasy stomach and told her about it. She told me to move like I was 7. I jokingly mentioned that it was her turn and she revved up the motor on her red kawa-sock-me and let me have it.

"Oh, I don't think so. I've had to wash the last two. And the last one you did was only half done. I still had to wipe the crap out of the bath."

Queasy stomach!!! I would rather clean a dirty tub with crap in it versus a dirty tub with puke and crap in it. I'm just sorry that I couldn't do anything about that. I'm powerless against the torrent of gastric fury.

Any way. When I did the dishes the first time, I got the "thank you but..." line. Anyone who understands the word but will tell you that "But" really means forget what you just said. So, I got the schpiel about how one should rinse dishes with hot water, wipe them off, use soap. Like I was 7. Not much has changed in a year except that now she rides her hound-a with a muffler. She keeps her negative comments to herself and justs lets me know I don't do it as well as she does. She finds one thing to criticize every time I do anything around the house, and thus beats me with the stick I fetched.

I keep my house clean to taste. My wife's taste is more refined. If her mom comes over, she has to prove to her mother that she is better off and thus sets me to work... Throws the stick out and tells me to fetch. I could care less about proving that I have it all together to her mother. I know I don't; I revel in it. I live in a permanent state of brokenness and disarray. Further pandering to that kind of manipulation only reinforces the manipulative behavior and thus history repeats (fractally.) But if I bring it up she gets flustered because I've just compared her to her mother.

I don't do housework, I get a slap to the face. I do do house work, I get hit by criticism. I really don't want to play this game any more. There is only so many times a dog gets beat before he thinks to stop playing catch. There are only so many times that a dog will salivate at a bell before it starves.

3 am Philosopny

Welcome to the cycle. A few blogs ago, I mentioned a very sloppy theory on the fractal pattern of life. An entry before I mentioned that I am tired. Syllogistically, I will get progressively tired as I travel down the path to the end of the spiral... Anyway... I'm exhausted. Here is the thing. I have been torn all of my life between what people want from me and everything I want to be. I've got a song about it and everything.

Let's start from the beginning. Long ago I was an introverted chubby Mexican-German crossbred mutt with no friends. I found that no one liked me for who I was, just what they could get out of me. Coupled with my religious beliefs, I turned this social parasitism into a lifestyle. In the end, It's a good system for people that are not me. People start telling me things like "you're the only reason I haven't quit," or "you're like the only nice guy here," or, back in my single days "why can't I find a guy like you?" Last I checked, I was a guy like me.

Here's my problem. I am still an unappealing person, with poor health, an O'douls beer gut, and lacking in social graces that I didn't obtain from watching smart ass movies like Office Space and Tommy Boy. The only difference is that the crowd's face has changed. Same people using me for my niceness and supportive attitude, Same people using me for their good feeling. Different people with biological and existential limitations, but the same people none the less. I'm either a whore or a drug, and when I'm spent I'm useless garbage. I'm hoping I'm a drug because if I were a whore, I would've seen more money for this crap.

There's probably more I could expound upon, but I would rather sleep. If no one reads this, no one will be disappointed.

sparate from myself

I have come to a harsh conclusion. I am strung out too thin in my endeavors.

I have done the math. I am expected to: Practice 14 hours a week minimum, do 2 hours of homework per class per class hour, participate in 14 hours of class per week(28 hours of homework for those of you keeping the algebra alive in this entry(minus 8 hours for classes involving practice(then adding 14 hours a week(minimum) to that hourly load)) work 32 hours a week until midnight, and , in the off times, take care of my daughter. evaluate:14+14+2(14-2)+32+Td=...
...84 hours +Td a week of misc. work. divide that by 7 to get the expected work a day, and you get 12+1/7Td hours a day. factor in that weekends are more work than any other day and the fact that most of the sleep I receive is actually a nap before class, and also factor in that Td is anywhere between 2 and 8 hours a day, and the fact that Td varies by the amount of molar pain my daughter has, nights can add another 2 hours to the already existent 2 to eight. My expected workload therefore is anywhere between an uncomfortable 14 to 22 hours a day. not to mention the fact that I need wind down time in a day. another hour donated to the Gods of blogging and pixelated virtual interaction with an "AIent" being inside the PlayStation II. Also factor in the constant nurturing of a marriage. more like a houseplant then a romantic painting. you have to water a marriage, fertilize a marriage, and (for the love of god ladies) cross pollinate marriages in order for the plant to stay alive.

I am tired, as always. I have also come to the conclusion that, in fact, I have had more days without a shower than a man should without being locked in a plastic, air tight box. My week has sloshed together into one greasy streak and I'm starting to lose my focus on time and space. is it Monday? Wednesday? the forth of July? 2001? 2007?

As far as I can tell today is today and I have no idea how I got here. Time has caught up with me recently and I can't help but wonder if I'm so tired, what have I done to become so? I have a stack of notes in my own handwriting that i don't remember taking and a book of homework I do not remember doing.
I feel like jack from FIGHT CLUB. snap awake at LAX, Boston, JFK, Galatin field... While and alter ego seems to be setting up another life without my participation, letting me in on a few things about the organization but keeping me in the dark on the methods and sick practices employed to successfully overcome the world. but I digress...

I seem to digress a lot in my blog... oh well...

I seem to have a lot on my plate right now. And as my once stalwart visage succumbs to fatigue, I can't help but wonder what kind of person I am when I don't pay attention to it. I am apparently more studious in my sleep that in my waking hours. and if that part of me can break free, it will be like Tyler Durden all over again, only instead of scorching smileys on office buildings, I'm doing my homework for me, and keeping myself from cleanliness. I'm a dirty scholar when I am not paying attention I guess.