It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like...

The Holidays are over and all the usual shit can come flying in full force.That isn't to say shit hasn't been flying around, it's just more pronounced now that there's no soft Christmas cheer to put a damper on it. Tensions run high in the RyeBread household as he and his family deal with the aftermath of that East Coast Blizzard that dumped a few feet of powder everywhere over a twelve hour period.

Some friends of mine came over to play some video games and just talk about life outside of college before the snow got really bad so they were welcomed to stay until morning so they wouldn't have to drive in the terrible road conditions. My father was working, older sister was back at college for the weekend, and my mother and brother went to a party. Come seven, my friends and I head out and clear off the driveway should my parents come home despite the weather. The wind begins to cover it back up. I get a call from my mom around eight asking me to clear it again as she'll be home soon. She questions whether I am up to no good. So again my friends and I go out, shovel off the foot or so that's fallen or blown over, during which our one shove breaks. We get back in, thaw out, start getting comfortable again. An hour and a half goes by, mom calls again claiming she will be home in about fifteen minutes. We bundle up and get to shoveling. We get back in, pull off our winter gear, and again try to defrost. Another half hour goes by, mom again. She asks if I'm doing anything I shouldn't be, then says she'll be home shortly and to go clean the drive way.

Yeah, fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me, fool me three times and bitch I'm not doing it. Well, turns out she was coming home and was none too pleased to find herself in four inches of snow after "specifically telling me to clean it." She went so far as to doubt I shoveled more than once despite the four foot barriers on either side of our walkway. Rye was none too pleased at this accusation, but tried to let it slide. Then, uh oh, more drama. Our darling dog decided that at some point while the men were out shoveling, it would be the perfect time to sneak a crap on the living room floor. Well, after that wonderful session, my friends and I decide it's time to turn in for the night and try to get some sleep. I wake up at one to my dog snuffing at my ear. Apparently her bowels are being assaulted by some holiday treats she got into because she wakes me up every twenty minutes for the rest of the night to run out in the snow to take care of herself. She finally stops around six in the morning and I get some real shut-eye.

My brother comes in four hours later to play some CoD, volume almost maxed out. Needless to say, I was not all that happy. He quiets it and I get another hour or two of sleep. When I wake up, my friends cleared out their car, and the entire top of the driveway, and went home. I clean up the room we crashed in then try to get ready for the day when my mom cuts in around two hours later, screaming that I should be out cleaning her car off, and taking care of the driveway without being asked. Apparently, I should not have to be asked to do anything, I should just do it. Should I fail this telepathic exam, it is perfectly okay for me to be screamed at. Then my mother turns on my friends for spending the night, but only cleaning off their car before leaving. Not only had they been offered an invitation by her, they took care of the top of the driveway. I would say they earned their keep.

I go out with my brother and carve out her car, the walkway, and a significant chunk of the bottom of the driveway before coming in to rest a bit and change clothes. She drops like a banshee from hell, descending in her righteous rage that I dare take a rest when I have barely been awake for five hours. At this point my nerves are frayed to breaking so I take her up in her "who can be loudest" challenge and call her out on some things before finally backing off in my usual passive-aggressive manner and just finishing the damn job with a broken shovel.

So yes, in less than 48 hours, all semblance of a non-aggression pact has gone out the window. There is little doubt in my mind that once I get back to my dorm I'll be getting the daily, "I haven't heard from you, please call home," calls on my cell. I hoped I had escaped the bipolar purgatory that is this house back in September, but it just keeps coming back.

The Truth Won't Save You Now

I'm so fed up with this body of mine. I don't know if I'm actually sick or if I'm being hit with the mother of all acid-reflux whatevers. All I know is that I need sleep to not fail a final I have tomorrow and I am not going to get that sleep because my stomach has decided this week would be as good a week as any to begin dissolving my heart and lungs.

Things to do before a big test:
Eat right
Get a good night's sleep
Keep calm
Study

Things that are insanely hard/impossible to do while ill:
Eat
Sleep
Relax
Focus in any way shape or form

Let me compile all this stress on top of my usual freaking out and I have yet another recipe for disaster on my hands. I recently made an attempt at saying no to some people, which was a big thing for me. I needed to study and I wasn't feeling to good, but my new-ish friends wanted to go out. I beat around the bush for a while, but with some urgings from my other friends, I finally managed to grow the balls to flat out say I did not want to go out. It was both incredibly liberating and extremely stressful. I literally had to make sure the people I had said no to were not offended in any way, then ask my other friend if me saying no to the first group of friends at least made him happy because I am so desperately needy like that.

If I'm not making someone else happy, I really don't think it is possible for me to be happy, making it extremely difficult for people to know what will make me happy. My mother, I know for a fact, has gotten to the point that she needs to confront me alone to find out whether or not I am elated over a gift or event because I can't just express it in a way she understands. It really just isn't fair. I want her to be happy, but to do that, I need to be happy. Yet I can't be happy unless I am making her happy which would be accomplished by me being happy.

I can only hope this horrible stress buildup will be taken care of after Finals and I get a nice month long break from it all.

It's Been A Long Time

I wish I could blame my inactivity on this blog solely on National Novel Writing Month (which I completed, by the way), but I really can't. The thing is, I just haven't been too keen on filling people in on my personal issues, but now I kind of feel like I should. I need an outlet of some kind and projecting to the faceless masses seems to be the most viable option.

I have come to the unshakeable conclusion that I am completely and totally, maybe even irrationally, terrified of being alone. This is not a new thing, I had this fear as a child as well. You know those machines at the mall? The space ship or the little motorcycle you put a quarter in then sit in it while it shakes like a crappy washing machine? I could never use those as a kid. It would fill me with this vague terror when I sat in them, this fear that when I clambered out my parents would be gone or they would not be there to help me out. I got lost at the mall once, when I was maybe seven. I just froze up and tried not to cry, standing near the entrance of a game store. Finally it was my sister's friend who found me. She told me my mom had sent her to find me while my sister was trying on a dress somewhere else.

That hurt. Sure my mom knew where I was, at least she had a pretty good idea, but she didn't come get me herself. She was too preoccupied with getting my sister some new clothes to take three minutes to get me. I should have kept up, made sure I didn't lose sight of her, but I was a kid. It hurt that I wasn't worth her time to go fetch.

So yes, if it didn't start there, it was at least fueled by that incident. If I didn't make sure I wasn't alone, I would be left behind. I get possesive because of that fear, I refuse to let things go. I have all sorts of hoarded collections, broken things and toys I have long since grown out of. I even go back and read books far, far below my reading level because nothing deserves to be lost and forgotten. It's when my possesiveness extends to people that the problems start.

I keep my friends close and my enemies as far away as physically and emotionally possible. When my friends start mixing in with my enemies, problems start. I like to think I don't do it on purpose, but I am noticing now how I behaved in the past. I would reel them in, pulling them away from a perceived threat. The thing is though, I am not sure who I felt was being threatened, me or them. Am I protective because I don't want to be abandoned or because I don't want to abandon them?

Now, most recently, I have been accused of acting selfishly. Said accusor stated that my defensive tendencies have flared up over a friend mixing up with another friend, that I attempted to pull the friends apart to keep them both safely in my own comfort zone. Problem being they are two sentient people who should be allowed to make their own decisions. So. So so so. Am I subconsciously yanking them apart, subtly setting them up for failure, in some involuntary reflex to protect and isolate what is "mine?" Or is this the delusion of someone looking for someone to blame for a failing relationship? I honestly can't tell, and since it's my subconscious under fire, my heartfelt words mean nothing.

Maybe it is my abandonment issues and terror at the possibility of being left alone, but I refuse to be held solely responsible. If some uncharacteristic machinations so easily tore down a wall of trust between two people, perhaps it wasn't all that strong to begin with. Maybe my subconscious is right, that the two are better off not being one item. All I know for sure is that it isn't fair to tell me to "stop being selfish," or "get over your issues," because if I can't see it happening there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it. My instincts are to protect as best I can, be it myself or others, and I can't just magic them away.

There I go again, being defensive. They say you only get defensive when you're at fault, but they also say you only lock things when you have something to hide. Just because I don't want you to walk all over me or delve my deeper secrets does not mean I am guilty of anything. I have a right to privacy and a right to defend myself. So I'll leave this issue, not quite settled, with a final few remarks.

I'm sorry things don't always work out. I'm sorry I can be possesive. I'm sorry I place my own wants and needs over others sometimes. I'm sorry I can't always side with you. I'm sorry you think I never do.

But.

I am not sorry for being me.

Look in the Mirror

What do I see? I see someone I can live with.

Morality

I take a class here at my University called Toleration. Today our discussion was on morality in children and how it should be applied to education in schools. According to several polls and statistics, the average moral character among children as viewed by their teachers were declining, even in as few as five years, the rate of cheating, violence, and substance abuse had risen drastically. Our intended focus was on whether schools should be promoting character education or if it should be left at home or if, in fact, it has any effect on the moral growth of children at all. That discussion was for class, my point in this blog post is as to whose fault it is that these new generations of children are becoming less and less ethical.

I blame the parents. I was raised by two parents, a mother and a father. Personally I believe my father was the more influential of the two. My dad never swore in front of me, not frequently at least. There was never a reward for good behavior and, as such, no need for a punishment. I was expected to do as he told me to do, so I did. There was never an "or else" added to the statement, just "You will do this, then we will do this, finally we will do this." We did many things together, but it wasn't a reward for good behavior. Together the two of us would go to the pizzeria in town before I had to go to preschool or after kindergarten let out and he would buy me a slice of pizza and a Yohoo. That was how it worked. I did as I was expected, and he would be content.

I was not the perfect child, I could be as obnoxious as any other kid my age. In particular I had a habit of giving my voice a certain swing when I was being silly that seemed to bother my dad. Sometimes I wouldn't even realize I was doing it, but he would always raise his voice a bit and say "Rye, stop doing that with your voice." I would comply. It was never "Stop doing that with your voice or no desert."

"That's not fair!" That had to be my favorite term. "Life isn't fair," was, in return, my father's favorite term. To be fair, my dad usually was. My mother on the other hand had a different outlook. She was always the one to hand out punishments. I believe that had quite an impact on my general outlook on her. If I did something wrong, intentionally or otherwise, or even if I did something she just did not like regardless of moral or ethical consequence, it was "No dessert," or "No T.V." One time I had said, "Someone at school called me a bastard, what's a bastard?" to my sister and her friend. My mother had heard only the swear through the door and sentenced me to two laps around the house, refusing to hear my side of the story until after I had completed the punishment.

You see, my father achieved my respect, my mother earned my fear. This lead to vastly different ways of verbal or mental responses to them: "Go get your clothes out of the hamper." If my dad said that I would do it usually right away, if my mom said it my first mental response would be 'or what?' As I got older that changed somewhat and it could take several commands from either parent to do as they asked, but I would feel bad if it was my dad who had to yell. With my mother, it was expected she would do it either way.

The point of this little trip through time is to show two sides of the moral spectrum. Children these days are doing only because of what they will or will not receive in return. I never dreamed of throwing a tantrum because all it would get me was a look from my father before he walked down the isle, or so I imagine. He would not compromise on things that had to be done, or if he knew it was within my power to accomplish quickly or easily. "You are getting a shot today at the doctor's office." I would say I did not want to get a shot and he would simply reply, "You need to get a shot and it might hurt." When we got to the office, the doctor would swab my arm, take out the needle, then tell my dad to hold me tight. My dad would tell me once again that this was something I had to do, and I would sit still, look away, and maybe let a tear slip by as they stuck me with the needle. My sister was apparently even braver than I was and would look at the needle, my younger brother a bit more of a coward. Regardless of our emotional response, not one of us ever put up a fuss about needles.

I walk into a doctor's office today and it is a competition of who can scream the loudest. The doctor is yelling for the parent to hold the child still, the parent is screaming that afterward they will go out for ice cream, and the kid is wailing and thrashing on the table. It's crazy.

The American Child is too spoiled, it is all about how much they can get in return for as little effort as they can put forth. And parents are buying into it, or rather, because parents are buying into it. The government and society as a whole is partially to blame, making a harsh word qualify as abuse, but you are the parent for god's sake. Parent your child! Children are not your equal and they should respect you as their superior. You are not their to cater to their every whim, the world does not revolve around them. You are to ensure they grow up following the moral code innate in every human being, keep them from ideas that will corrupt that moral guide, and provide for them the basic necessities they need to survive.

I will admit that I grew up privileged, I had just about everything I could ask for within reason. Every Christmas I got a plethora of toys, some I wouldn't even end up playing with, they would just sit in my closet. But, I never forgot what was right or what was wrong, my parents did not steer me wrong, or allow me to be steered. My opinions may differ in some aspects, but our morals are similar.

If you ever have children, or if you have children currently, it is not about instilling fear or becoming their slave, it is about earning their respect and making them work to gain yours. Love is unconditional, respect is not.

This Something-Settled Matter in My Heart

I don't like being angry, I would go so far as to say I hate being angry, which kind of defeats what I hope to accomplish, but there is something worse than just anger in me. My anger is undirected. Cliche` it may be, though odd for a man to say, I feel like I am turning into my mother. I'm so ANGRY but I don't know WHY. I can feel it, deep down, this burning hate and spite just building up with no where to go.

I'm afraid, afraid that I might do something stupid and ruin a friendship or spoil a moment that would have otherwise been precious. I'm terrified I'll let this anger out on the wrong thing.


There is no worse hate than that without a discernible cause, some logical reason for its presence. For the life of me I can't figure out what it is, and because of that I don't think I will ever be able to root out the chief cause.

If I suddenly erupt in anger over something am I treating the disease or the symptom? Is this the true cause or is it something I would normally have overlooked if not for this base rage?

Maybe it's the weather. It's rainy and shitty out, even when the sun peeks through, I'm either in class until it goes down again, or stuck studying. I try to go have fun with my friends, but there is only so much you want to even do when you feel this way.

I tried listening to happy music, eating food that's good for me, hell even playing Robot Unicorn Attack did nothing.

I'm just... angry.

If My Name Were Self-Descriptive...

I would be eating myself at this point. I left my student ID card at home during my last visit and as such have not been able to eat at the dining hall for the past two-three days. That is not to say I have not been eating, but I have been rationing my 3 containers of easy-mac, five cans of soup, and single bag of popcorn like a post-apocalyptic war survivor. Luckily said card is in the mail and will arrive some time tomorrow. I think I can last, but my roommate has been looking at my stash. I might have to kill him and microwave what remains in order to survive.

Lack of an ID card has also caused me some grief in other areas, such as being able to enter most buildings, but lucky for me security means nothing so people hold open doors for anyone who is not openly brandishing a fire-arm, or who is at least making an effort to conceal it. I can't print things out at the Library either, but the only teacher who has not been understanding so far was one I don't like anyway, so no love lost. If I'm not back in a week, send a search party. I could use their flesh to survive.