Many Worlds Interpreted: With and apostrophe and without

What's the point of interpreting the other worlds if in the other worlds, they've decided this and that don't even exist? In those other worlds, they've decided, they don't give a fuck? What if Schrödinger is a shoemaker in the other world? Making shoes. And his cat. Sleeping. In the corner. Dreaming of mice and catnip. Not worrying about its papa writing him into some cockamamie theory he has. And, all is safe and reasonable with the world.
-the end-

The Many World's Interpretation continues...and continues....and continues....

In the one universe I think I'm in, I'm having a cigarette. It's been a long day filled with fruitless nothings. I've gone to work. I've clocked in at 9 and have clocked out by 5. I've driven home from work. I took a nap wearied by nothing to be really weary about. I wake up. A friend calls. We enjoy a comfortable and comforting evening together. She takes me home. I'm enjoying to rain. It washes away all the secular sins of the world. I'm going to bed. The days seem endless, monotonous and infinite.

In the other universe, my day is starting. I have a pen. I have paper. I write and occasionally drift off into a doodle. There's a tremendously chaotic and wonderful world before me and I have only this bare moment in time to collect my thoughts before I get lost in them. The days seem only infinite.

I don't know what goes on in the other world. Theoretically it's impossible for us to interact. It would be dangerous for us to interact. In my world, you forever ask someone how they are doing. In theory, this would only be self-destructive. I let her go writing in peace. She has a busy day ahead of her.

-the end-

My submission to the Many Worlds Interpretation - Khanh's Cat.

In one world, the cat is dead. In another world, the cat's totally alive...having a great time...writing letters home to ma about what a great time it's having...creating time machines that defy the time space wave function continuum...ending up in the dead cat's universe on a particularly wild night. It finds the dead cat. Slaps the dead cat in the face and says, "When are you going to wake up? Don't you realize you're nothing but a part of a very flawed theory?!" There's no response. Drunk and disappointed, the live cat stumbles back into his time machine navigating his way back home. Except, there's no home anymore. There's a steal cage and some nutty Austrian physicist named Erwin Schrödinger standing there going, "I've got an idea."

Moral of Interpretation: Don't fuck with a dead cat.

-The End-

Nothing like waking up...

...and finding out you are still you. It'll take me a few more hours to determine whether or not this is a good thing or a bad thing.

In the meantime, I'll take it as a good thing because the other option, not waking up at all, pretty much sucks when you're least expecting it.

-the end-

Attempt #6780789

The words used to come out easier. But lately, all I've done is write for hours only to eventually find myself repeating what I normally do...paralyze my pinkie finger on the backspace button deleting my thoughts and words one letter at a time. I've forgotten what the point was and resolve that it wasn't all that important to begin with.

I figure I needed to really attempt writing it all out again, pointless or not, because how I've been handling it is getting me nowhere.

I'm in a relationship. It was working on it. I've reached the point of realizing I've put in too many overtime hours without any benefit. I need to move, and I'm struggling with it. I question what it is I'm struggling with...is there something telling me I've been going about it the wrong way or am I hitting that age where I'll take what I've got because I've ruined everything else and loneliness is my only other option.

I hate my job. I don't really. It's just not what I want to do. What I want to do gives me a lot more freedom but a lot less pay. Can I live off freedom? Ideally, I could, but freedom doesn't pay an overdue electric bill. It doesn't put food in my stomach. I mine as well look for a job raising magical ponies. Both would be equally non-realistic.

I would like to find the body wash that erases the mysterious pheromone attracting all the perverts to me as of late. You think this is me speaking from arrogance, but I've had more than one too many incidents of attracting the wrong crowd. Something is raising red flags around me saying, "Yes. Feel free to talk to me, react to me, attempt to molest me. I don't mind." I do mind. What can I do to give off THAT vibe.

Self actualization.
Esteem
Love/Belonging
Safety
Physiological

I've fallen of Maslow's Pyramid. I've allowed myself to be satisfied at the bottom of his triangle, and barely so. I'm barely a trapezoid.

-the end-

I kind of miss my best friend.

I kind of wish things weren't so awkward. A boy and a girl can be friends without it being complicated. But sometimes, it gets complicated just the same. You wait it out. You talk again and you punch each other in the shoulder. It's not time to punch him in the shoulder just yet. Waiting it out. I'll punch him eventually.

I remember when...

Is it accurate that I feel like using the term unseasonably cold for the weather here in Texas? It's terribly cold outside. Frankly, it's cold inside. My bones are feeling chilly.

I broke out a jacket I haven't worn in years. Perhaps the feel of cow leather and nostalgia would warm me. It does it's best to block out winter. Not so bad, but not so great either.

My hands, they go unprotected. I'm knitting them into armpits trying to catch whatever bit of warmth I can manage. It's the cold that knocks out my sense of reason and causes me to forget that jackets have pockets. Into them, my hands finally go.

A scrap of paper. No, it feels oddly different than the normal detritus that I keep there. Usually a collection of gas station receipts for cigarettes snuck while my parents weren't looking. A gum wrapper for the spearmint I gnawed on to cover it up. A ticker tape jumble of a careless youth.

No, this certainly felt different. Even with my blind and numb hands, I could feel the sharp creases of intentionally folded piece of paper.

Curiosity piques me and I dig the scrap out of the pocket. Opening the first fold I read an apology.

It's the apology of a shy young man I once knew very fondly. He's tired and the first thing he decided to do that morning was write this very letter to me. He's saying sorry about how clumsy he appeared after our first date and how even clumsier this letter appears. But, he doesn't apologize for what he really wants to tell me...that he likes me and that he'd really like to get to know me.

I'm a little giddy at finding this letter. A bit warmed even. It's the last time I remembered someone going out of there way to tell me they cared for me. That doesn't happen as often these days. But it happened once. I remember.

I'm going to be late to work.

The cupie doll says it all. Big whoops.

I've got either streaks of good luck, or streaks of bad. I'm coming off my several months long streak of bad. Coming upon the new year, things are looking a bit up. I won't dish on all the details as I'm pretty sure that's the easiest way to set me on a streak of bad luck again.

Just know, I'm just a touch giddy. The concept of breakfast in bed still boggles my mind even though it's the third time this week I've had it brought to me in slumber. I'll eventually find a way to muck it all up, but while I nurse on a mug of tea, I relish the fact that in that moment, I"m absolutely harmless and he thinks I look innocent nonetheless.

Other business...

At the very moment, I'm surrounded by what I can only call Kabuki theater meets IDM. Through a friend's recommendation, I'm listening to Drawing Restraint 9, a soundtrack drummed up by Bjork to accompany a performance art/ sculpture/ cinema piece by Matthew Barney.There's lots of wailing and synthesized woodblock. It's crazy and chaotic. I'm in love. I'm pretty sure that the neighbors aren't liking it as much. I'm also pretty sure they are under the assumption I've just staged a dramatic sepukku next door. Nevermind. I'm falling to sleep to it and wondering what the hell the dream sequences are going to be like tonight.

Disfunctional

Who mends the losses of the Maytag repairman? On call for everyone else, but no one's ever around to repair his machinery.

Definitions and their ritual abuse....

The word merciless was penned in reference to our current situation. I think the word inconsiderate could more accurately describe the situation.

What do I know? My friend thinks he's a member of The Cutting Crew and that by tickling a knee here and there and adopting an impersonation of Goofy equally as often, I may have just died in his arms tonight.

To be frank....

Because my name is not Frank, being friends with me can often cause confusion. To clarify, the fact that I was born with a vagina tends to cause confusion with friendships of mixed gender.

Specifically that of the sex opposite to mine.

I have made someone close to me very uncomfortable. He insists that his "flirtations" with me have led me on and he no longer feels comfortable around me. To me, his "flirtations" were on the juvenile bent. While charming and endearing to me, like a relationship with any 8th grader, harmless and non-threatening. Long and short of it, meant to be playful and fun and nothing more.

It's the classic case of miscommunication, or lack thereof. I got my feelings hurt from something I don't think he quite understands. Considering the environment and circumstance, this easily translates into perhaps a jealousy of another person present. A person of my own gender influence. It's all a muddle and that's where the current story ends.

Coming full circle, I ponder the possibility that having a penis might have made my situation run a lot smoother. To muscle it out, have a winner and let a firm handshake of reconciliation take care of the rest. Alas, I have a stupid vagina with no hopes of growing a "manhood" in any near future.

Twiddling braided pigtails while pondering the imponderables....

I'm at home trying to figure out how I'm going to get myself out of my latest snafu. Less the long explanation of what the latest mess is, I'm in a dilly of a pickle easily rectified with a short and to the point conversation.

Ah, but I'm perplexed nonetheless and cowardice is taking over. Sometimes I wish I was born a turtle. God gave them the convenience of a built in back-up plan. Hide in your shell until you deem safe to resurface.

I have no turtle shell. I just have really long braids I'm twiddling until I come up with a brilliant idea. Looking in the mirror, I think I can pull off dumb. Maybe I'll just do that.

Really good at avoiding things...

The lengths I'll go to avoid people. Like, stay at home and watch Hotel Rwanda. I've watched this movie already. It was good. But, it's the type of good that would be satisfied with one viewing. I already decided this years ago when I watched it the first time. For a while, I had a copy it sitting on my shelf just to prove that I watched it and that I was an intellectual...but we all know that I wouldn't watch it again. Call me crass, but genocide isn't a feel good topic. I traded that movie in for a missing copy of Center Stage that I needed to replace. No one will admit that they liked that movie except for me. I proudly display that shit on my shelf because no one else will. Of course, against mine own will, it doesn't get displayed for long. Close Center Stage junkies have jacked no less than five copies. Eventually, I gave up. They repeat Center Stage quite a bit on TBS.

Anywho, I watched Hotel Rwanda. I didn't want to, but I needed an excuse. I don't like lying. So, when I give someone the excuse that "I don't want to come over and have relations with you" and they ask, "Really?" And I say, "really." I felt like actually watching Hotel Rwanda would bring the point home. So, many repeated tears and tissues later, I've finished Hotel Rwanda. I'm satisfied with ever having to watch that movie again, and avoiding someone.

Oh, shit...baby otters

Random gratuitous acts of cuteness mixed in with an update.

There's a lovable otter to start off this post. I neither feel or look as chipper as this otter. I'm at home. Sick. I hate being sick. I shall only be taking of making phone calls to either Dave or Sara at this point in time. I'm my current state of consciousness, limiting the amount of names I'll have to remember is key. Making one a boy and the other a girl was just cheating.

Considering that I hate being sick, you'd think I'd do everything in my possibility to get myself better. Namely, getting enough fluids and getting plenty of vitamin rich nutrients in my system. I'm pretty much eaten nothing by grilled cheeses and cocoa. Dave's come by twice and plied me with ice cream. My mucus membranes are jacked. I don't give a fuck. I'm now eating cheetos.

I don't want to leave the impression that I'm a lonely techno geek sitting at my server (notice how I've bypassed the word computer altogether...) nursing redbull to chase down skittles. On a normal basis, I'm pretty much an asshole about making sure I get my proper squares a day. It's just that my synapses don't fire and I don't do rational things. Overloading my system with preservatives seems to be the instinctive self destruct.

I'm also entertaining myself with some pretty tragic brain fodder. I'm so weak and slothlike, I can barely curry the energy to find the remote and turn on the tv. Instead, I've been in the same prone position with my laptop in vertical position (propped up by pillows...tenuous....scary....necessary to promote sloth) and watching SNL skits all day. Andy Samburg isn't as funny as we think, but the juvenile in all of us appreciates the good laugh of a white man rapping.

That shit's super cute. It's a furry thing on a finger, but it's super fucking cute. Damn.

That's it. I'm sick. Just rambling.

-the end-

Things I know you don't think I know....

I know someone who claims vegetarianism, but thought I wouldn't notice I heard them ordering a steak wrap at the Taco Bell drive thru while they put me on hold the other day.

Letting a week go in between tirades gives you some time to reflect...

...and realize that there's no way of looking at a hissy fit without it always looking like a hissy fit. I never really regret the things I say, because there's no point in doing so. It's not like you can take it back, and when the time machine gets built to let you go back in the time space continuum to allow you to do that sort of thing, you probably wouldn't. It would be occupied with much important matters like going back to see the precise moment when the yo-yo was invented or some other nonsense like that. All I'm saying, in mere observation that sounds profound...if you spent all your time surfing around in a time machine to fix all of your life's regrets, you'd surf forever and never get back home. Ask Scott Bakula how that feels.

Anywho, looking back at the previous weeks posts, I was genuinely upset and being genuinely upset, I vented. It was appropriate at the time. It isn't now. What is appropriate now is that do some house cleaning, regrouping, and moving the fuck on.

That certain friend that frequently will show up in my posts, as he did a few nights ago when I decided to throw a verbal hissy, met me up for coffee. It's a routine. Same bat time, same bat channel. The air is different from the last week we decided to visit.

Last week, we were both very angry and frustrated and there's no way we could change the topic of conversation without it rerouting back to original starting point. Flash forward to today, and clearly, we've done our fair share of reconciliation over our personal matters and the committee has decided that everything is going to be okay as long as we put on the agenda that we are working towards making everything be okay. Sounds like a good plan.

No doubt, there will realistically be some amount of backtracking and pitfalls, but forward progression is our direction so we'll just pick up where we left off after we just ourselves off. So it is written, so shall be done.

We decided to leave on that note before any other jangle could creep into the conversation. My mind hasn't waivered since I came home. Good and good. Check and check. Day by day.

-the end-

In other news...

Anyone know how to get over an addiction to fountain drinks. It's seriously getting out of hand over here. I mean, I would think it was just soda, but I can put the fucking can down. And, I'll know if you cheat me by refilling my cup with a regular bottle or can of soda. But, my regular trips through the drive through or stops at the local Valero have me feeling like I made a visit to my local crack dealer instead.

It's bad folks. Seriously bad. I mean, I'd ask you to stage an intervention, but you're probably already reading this and thinking I'm ridiculous. Who am I kidding? Those of you reading this already know I'm ridiculous.

Moving on.

-the end-

More crude commentary about how I should stay away from people who've had their hoo anywhere near, in or around my own hoo ha.

I'd like to tell you that my common sense coordinates with my bullshit meter when it comes to people I've dated, but it doesn't. In reality, my brain detects the bullshit, but for lack of a better reason and nothing else to do, I go along willingly. Both participants in the game play their roles accordingly, hop in bed and give each other a few weeks to a few months after all is said and done so that we can play the game all over again. It's the appropriate amount of time that we feel comfortable in convincing ourselves that we don't really know what happened and it won't happen again...and then forget it.

You can stop telling yourself that you don't know what you were thinking, when even your mom knows what's up and she would tell you herself that it's not her first time at that rodeo...had she not birthed you from her own womb.

It's the very existence I've been living, lathering, rinsing and repeating for the last few years. As I mentioned before, it's also an existence I've grown very weary of. At the moment, I've decided to reinstall the alarm on my bullshit meter so it's louder and more obnoxious. It's not like I hadn't heard it before, but like my alarm clock, there's just so many times I can hit that snooze button before shit gets seriously annoying and I have to wake up.

I've entered phase three of break up mode. I've went from weepy and morose to temporary acceptance of life and all it's circumstance (severely abusing the phrase, "If it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be...I wish him well and so be it") And now, I'm just comfortably seated at the thrown of red hot mad and not going to take it anymore. You'd think this was a minor feat bound to recycle itself. But as a woman of efficiency, I've decided to break up with all of the men of my past and present all at once.

This is where turning in my clunkers for cash takes on a grander meaning.

Yes, I'm still firm in the belief that things didn't happen weren't meant to happen. I'm just reevaluating why they weren't happening and what exactly I was waiting for to happen. Evaluation of past circumstances leads me believe I've been only waiting for the inevitable to happen. Broken hearts and frustration and quietly paying for stock in mental health and therapy. If learning to accept and tolerate and grow strong from rejection was what I wanted to gain, I'm a fucking beast. That, I'm well versed and educated in.

Now, here comes the real scary part. Healthy commitment in a strong relationship based in mutual love and affection. That, my friends, is the serious and hard core "boss level" shit. That, freaks me out to the very core and it's mostly because I have no real experience in it. How do you people handle it?

Nevermind answering that. It's about time I found that out for myself.

-the end-

Almost forgotten, nearly always reminded.

A dear friend and I have been going through romantic woe at exactly the same time. Remembering the old adage, "Misery loves company," it's almost a bit too precious this has happened so conveniently...or rather inconveniently. However, I couldn't imagine a better partner in crime to go through this with. Said person is a good portion of my heart, and considering we went through very like circumstances, helping him mend was like mending myself. About a month later, the both of us are beginning to get back on track. In hearing him talk and sort his head out loud, he's reaching that bit of zen that registers to me he's going to be okay. I think I'm getting there, but my confidence had taken a pretty severe hit and so getting on the same page is taking me a bit more time than I imagine. Long story short, I'm getting close but I'm hardly what you considered there just yet.

In the meantime, I've spent a considerable lot of time with some wonderful company this weekend. They really do make up the rest of my heart. Getting out, having fun, not necessarily forgetting what I've been going through but giving myself a proper opportunity to take a break from it has been a tremendous load off the aching muscle in my chest. I could have spent a bit more time in that happy sort of place, but certain people and their effect on you have a way of demanding attention when they're being ignored. A certain missed phone call or message that temporarily empowers you for having ignored, will always gnaw at you moments later.

As I drift off to sleep in attempts to forget, I will be kept awake thinking about whether or not I should have ignored them altogether.

-the end-