word problems

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I feel like my conversations at work get out of hand pretty quickly. Today, for example.

Mike: One more count before you go on vacation. Excited?
Me: Don’t remind me.
Mike: Every Monday afternoon, I get this feeling…that even at such a distance, I’m sensing your blood pressure rising just because you’re thinking about counting things.
Me: If they only wouldn’t open stuff needlessly. That’s the thing I can’t stand. Like those stupid food trays. One hundred and seventy-five to a box, and I have to count them individually, only to find that there are one hundred and seventy-two. Because they HAD to have those three trays–nevermind the other open box I haven’t counted yet…
Mike: You could teach a training class. Have some counting bears to illustrate the suffering of taking inventory on a smaller scale.
Me: Would I have to then inventory the counting bears? Because that would be the last straw. They’d want an open box of each colour.
Mike: You’d want to hurt someone, I see.
Me: In the spirit of maths, we could have a word problem: say I have one bullet, and three needlessly opened boxes of counting bears–
Mike: Wait! I just have to know–if you had two bullets, and we had you taking inventory with Hitler, Stalin, and Toby, would you say you’d shoot Toby twice?
Me: I would shoot whichever of them had opened all the boxes.
Mike: *laughing*
Me: They’d better just hope it was boxes of counting bears they opened, and not boxes of bullets. *pause* You should talk to Maggie about not hiring any more time-traveling dictators, too.
Mike: *laughing more* Paris and Kurt will be so disappointed.
Me: There’s only room enough for me here.
Mike: I’ll keep that in mind.

unlikeliness

I still don’t know what to think. I see now that it is partly my own fault. But…my sisters? I don’t know what to make of them. One of them just says these things under her breath while we are having dinner and our dad or other sister is talking…and I am the only one who hears her, and I always laugh…because we have no souls (it seems), and mom always wants to know what is so funny, but no. Nope. Nothing. It’s not funny, actually.

But somehow she’s picked up on it enough to be evil to me…

And then our middle sister did the same thing yesterday.

I think I am just paranoid enough to think I am being elaborately trolled…by basically everyone at this point. Because of that text, too. That was a weird one…

Ugh. How did this happen?

I feel like…as inevitable as it was that I would react internally the way I have, I wish somehow that my Wolf-self had been clever enough to keep me from reacting outwardly in whatever way I’ve done that’s caused it to spread around like this. Like I’ve contaminated everyone.

It’s not a comfortable thing…despite the fact that everyone is taking it in stride. (Maybe that’s what worries me, actually.)

(And–more parenthesis, I know–I just had a thought. One that I think was trying to form when I woke this morning–and yes, it was actually morning!–but that couldn’t quite hold itself together yet…I think that the reason I am stuck in this now is because she isn’t there anymore, occupying so much space…and I feel…no way about it. Nothing. I feel nothing about the realization that she isn’t registering anymore. I don’t even feel surprised that I feel nothing…which is what I wanted to feel for all that time anyway…but I can’t even get excited about it now that it’s come to pass…

Admittedly, if I were to actually see her–unlikely–it would probably not last…but that’s the beauty of unlikely situations: their unlikeliness makes them a non-issue–except for paranoid people like me, because we will start to think about it anyway, just in case it happens…and I can’t really discount it, since the last “unlikely” scenario I was fancying did happen…ah, I should just stop. Like, really. Just bloody STOP.)

passwords

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Welp.

You know those times when you do a stupid thing and try to play it off, but then it keeps popping into your mind all throughout the rest of the day, and you respond with sudden outbursts of cursing or banging your head on a thing, and that voice in your head is all like, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE???”

That happened. Because I was logging into a thing to show my GM something that wasn’t making sense…and I didn’t hit the tab button. And my password got logged into the username spot.

Explaining your passwords is easy when they are the names of your pets. But this one…ugh -_-”

Basically, the end result was my GM laughing hysterically about this running joke that the supervisors and I have about my various fictitious political alignments, and my resignation to using them as a basis for all the ridiculously long passwords we have to have for every work-related program we use (seriously, I can think of 9 right off the top of my head…).

Except that now I have to change half of mine because he admits he will probably remember what it is because he thought it was hilarious.

And I never did get my numbers-related question sorted out.

Bah.

because we got bored talking about being served human meat…

Me: …I think that where I went wrong is when I told them they could decide amongst themselves who should stay.
Kurt: Right. Because who knows what they’ll actually end up doing then. They might all just leave and hope we don’t notice.
Me: I should just stick with dictating what they do and when.
Kurt: But it’s nice to let the crew decide for themselves sometimes. It’s just a nice thing to do.
Me: I do like being nice sometimes. I feel like I fit in better–
Kurt: I’M ONTO YOU!
Me: Come again?
Kurt: I see what you’re doing. I know your government sent you here with orders to assimilate so we won’t notice–BUT I’M NOTICING RIGHT NOW!
Me: Oh? I see. Now, what government is this, again? The one that’s sent me?
Kurt: Whatever communis–NAZI GERMANY. They sent you.
Me: On one hand, I am excited about that because I always wanted to time travel. On the other hand…just no.
Kurt: I went too far.
Me: Perhaps.

netflix…

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That site.

I can never find what I actually want to watch there, which means I’ve made a lot more trips to the used bookstore to check for a few titles I am wanting to watch (or re-watch)…they never have them either.

And now Netflix is sort of grasping at straws to suggest things for me based on a handful of things I told it I’ve seen before, and the titles I keep asking it about.

I’m not sure what to make of its suggestions.

See, it suggested a TV show to me, and I added it (haven’t watched it yet), but I thought it was odd because there are only three episodes so far. And it’s a show I’ve never heard of. So I asked IMDB, and apparently it’s a foreign show.

Ah. Okay.

I might still watch it…but I’ve run into a few weird things regarding the subtitling in some of the foreign films that it’s persuaded me to watch. Makes me hesitate a bit.

I watched a Danish movie called The Hunt, because I remembered us talking about it at work because it was nominated for a “best foreign film” Oscar or something…so I figured I’d give it a go. And the film is in Danish, so that’s fine. Read subtitles and pay attention. No big deal.

Except…there was an English-speaking woman who apparently understood Danish, but did not speak it because she almost never has lines in Danish. But she’s not English nor American…nor Canadian or Australian or Irish or Scottish or South African…none of the accents I recognised as being from a place with a large English-speaking population.

Turns out the actress is Swedish. But if she’s Swedish….why does her character speak almost exclusively English? I was confused. Especially when the other characters keep talking to her in Danish, with the exception of a few lines from the main character, and then another set of characters who ask her if she needs them to tell her something in English so she can understand better, and she says no and then they do anyway. Wth.

It wasn’t a bad movie, but the plot was meh.

And then there was one that I watched because it turned out to have Ron Weasley Rupert Grint in it.

Into the White started out with some backstory in text format…and the text was in German, which puzzled me at first. Because I assumed the movie would have the text available in the language of the intended audience…makes sense, right? Fortunately, Netflix gave me subtitles for the backstory. And those were the only subtitles supplied by Netflix.

Anyway. Given my assumption, I thought it was going to be a primarily foreign language movie. Okay, fine. I like to read.

But then the English characters turned out to only speak English, so any other characters had to speak English to them. Alrighty…except…now that the movie’s primary language is English, why are the subtitles only for the non-English languages? Does that mean we are now assuming the entire audience understands English? I could get it if the subtitles were courtesy of Netflix, but the text was different, like it was a fixture in the film itself.

All I can guess is that the filmmakers figured the movie’s entire audience could understand spoken English, but not German or Norwegian…but that the same audience would probably be able to read the backstory in German anyway?

*shakes head*
I don’t even know.

…at least it wasn’t like Chappie (and other films by Neill Blomkamp, I suppose), where they subtitled spoken English with text in English because they figured people wouldn’t be able to understand a really strong South African accent.

Subtitles are weird, man.

Now I must sleep.

the dark side really does have cookies…or cotton candy, anyway

I am going to get our youtube privileges taken away. Now when we draw up the site, it suggests tons of movie trailers, which is 90% of what we watch at work…but I noticed today that if you scroll down just a little, it is making regular recommendations that we listen to musical selections from The Red Army Choir and the Wehrmacht Musikkorps.

I am just going to have to start listening to music on my phone when I am closing by myself. -_-”

That, or I’ll have to hope they will understand when I tell them it happened like some dubious character pulling up in a nondescript van and asking if you want ponies and cotton candy, and I got totally suckered in by that.

Because that’s what a lot of these marches make me think of…they all sound so damned happy. And I just want to feel cheerful and forget what it is like to be sick with anger. :(

give up

I should simply stop hoping for things and just give up.

Every time I think things are moving forward, someone ruins them, and then I have to be evil because that is the choice I’m given: let someone else make the decisions for me, and spend my life unhappy with them…or refuse. And naturally, people get all hurt by my refusals.

I should just do what people want me to do, shouldn’t I? Just let everyone else tell me how things are to be, and accept that there isn’t a choice, and the way I imagined things happening is, of course, nowhere close to reality.

I want to be happy, damn it.
And I was. I was so happy earlier today, and that got ruined before the night was over. Because of course it did. I am simply not allowed to be happy. Other people can’t stomach the idea of letting me be happy because my happiness requires too much of them.

Not that I can blame them.
I am very nearly unlovable. Especially if you don’t know me at all, or if you know me too well…as with our solar system, there’s a “Goldilocks area” where you know me just well enough to like me, but not so well that you see what an exacting, evil monster I am…

I should have learned quicker to keep people in that area, because telling them what a monster I am doesn’t deter them…they think they want to love me, and they’re wrong. Because I will just turn evil on them once they start destroying my vision of how things ought to be, and then (I like to imagine) they will ask themselves why they ever thought they wanted to love me when I am neverendingly awful.

Maybe only stupid people love me. I have not considered things in that light before.

Not, you know…stupid for loving me, but just stupid. Like they are too dumb to understand the fact that I have stated what I will and won’t do for years, and have not budged from that declaration…and they think they can text me and get me to change my mind about significant things like where I will live and when and under what circumstances…

Excuse me? I am blown away that one could think that was an acceptable thing to think about me. If it had been someone who didn’t know me well, okay. I could see it. But someone who knows me very, very well? One would think they’d know better. But no. Of course not.

It’s like they enjoy texting me constantly when I am busy at work, and sending me into a fit of rage that makes me sick to my stomach, and unable to sleep or to stop shaking. All because they couldn’t fucking wait for a time when we could have a real, in-person, calm conversation about it.

I just want to die because I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t. I can’t make anyone else happy, and I’m certain nobody else gives a fuck about my own happiness…I should just give up and hope that everyone else will do likewise and save us all the trouble.

meaningless connections

Okay. This.

Here is the problem, as I see it:

I am told that the human mind finds connections where there are none, and that this is why we are like we are, finding meanings where there “aren’t” meanings, and making stories and symbols and communicating complex (and ultimately “meaningless” ideas, depending on whether you believe or don’t believe in meaning as a thing that exists…). And yes, okay. I think a lot of connections we forge are stupid or meaningless.

But it is hard–so hard–to write them off when it is your own brain doing it.

Like this movie, right? I would never have watched it, except that I’d already seen another one that I would never have watched but for this thing that I am trying so hard to blame on my Wolf.

But they were both watched. And in this second one, where I already knew this scene existed because I was…I don’t know…serving drinks or something stupid. You needed more water with lemon, or a bottle of malt vinegar. Something dumb. But I remember this scene–that is the point–

No. No, I’m getting ahead of myself.

The movie. I watched it because I had already seen one with you in it, and I wanted to hear you talk again because it amused me. And because I am profoundly affected by voices. It’s a thing with me.

But…I liked you voice and I wanted to hear you talk more, so I watched this movie. And I knew this scene was in it, where you told a story that I already knew–and that is why I remember it…because I was moderately excited to hear a telling of this story I already knew and liked (very well…I liked it a lot or I would not remember).

This is the thing though:
You don’t just tell the story. You tell it with details that say to me, “this is you. This is why you are like that.”

I mean, as connections go…it would have been weak. But I wrote a post about that story just a few days ago. And it was fresh in my mind. And now all I can think about is how bizarre it feels, that I would hear you talking about something I was so recently thinking of.

I only slept for about three hours last night, and now I fear I will be unable to sleep again because I will be awake, thinking of this.

And listening to the songs…my goodness, the songs…
It was all a terrible, terrible mistake. I swear.

Except that, as you point out, I could not help but make that mistake because it is who I am. It was so because it could be no other way.

mental furniture

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Jester and I talked about books today. He was shocked that I hadn’t really enjoyed The Chronicles of Narnia, and also that I haven’t read any of C.S. Lewis’ scifi novels.

I was kind of surprised at his assertion that the Narnia books are “the same thing” as the LOTR universe. No…not so. Certainly not.

Different styles entirely. And audiences? Yes, okay. They wrote for “children”. But imo, Lewis’s stories are far more suitable for children…the only thing in them that disturbed me any was the voice of the werewolf. But I think that is because it was described to perfection as the voice of a leopard seal that had been gliding around the waters in our sub-conscious, and saying sly, threatening things that upset even my Wolf.

Normal kids would not be bothered by that specific thing, methinks.

And if I am honest (sometimes I am), I cannot think of a single thing that scared me in the LOTR, but those books made me unbearably sad. For a fourth grader.
And there you have it as well as I can explain: I was ruined at a young age by the terrible sadness of the LOTR, and by all of those gruesome holocaust/WWII books that so attracted and repelled me and led me to the conclusion that I enjoy upsetting things for some ineffable reason.

Seriously.

I don’t know. I just can’t think of them as being the same things. Probably because…despite the fact that there are some very moving and beautiful scenes in it, I have not been particularly taken by anything about Narnia. My brain stores those scenes like they are paintings, but not even necessarily ones of a series. Just pretty things, disconnected from everything else.

But with LOTR…there is so much apart from the initial stories…so much information and so much myth and backstory to the already long novels…
Without the LOTR, my mental furniture would be much diminished. I would have known about Beowulf, because they at least mentioned that story in school, but I think that without Bilbo and Smaug, it would not have caught my interest. And then I would have neither known nor been interested in the reading that led me to the story of Glaurung and Túrin, and I certainly would not have been motivated enough to read the Norse Eddas to know about Fafnir and Sigurd…and then to have gone on from there and read the Nibelungenlied, only to be disappointed that Siegfried (the name is different in that version) is a much shadier character in those versions of the stories…though…as legendary kings go, I still prefer him to King Arthur, seeing as there is a version of his stories where he isn’t a fuckup. No suck luck for our friend from Camelot.

I definitely wouldn’t’ve gone to see the opera about this particular myth–I watched it at my theatre, but I only made it through about half of the performance because I had to work that day…I never got to see the dragon! :'(
Still…it was enjoyable.

I can’t say Narnia has fostered any particular interests in me to learn more about any of its threads. What? Shall I read pastoral poetry for the fauns? No. Partly because I want to slit the throats of some of those poets who wrote neverending pastorals (they are SO TEDIOUS to read and stay awake when you are in college and it’s not your thing but they just keep assigning them and you want to incinerate all the fields and butterflies and send your Wolf in a fury upon those stupid, bleating sheep), and also because they tend to not be fauns and to be satyrs instead, and I want to kill them more than I want to incinerate butterflies because the mere presence of a satyr means someone is probably getting raped or unwillingly seduced, and as a female reader, I am disgusted by the fact that these supposedly idyllic places in pastoral poems are ruined by man-creatures who can’t keep it to themselves.

For these reasons, I have had a tough time thinking that Mr. Tumnus is an alright faun. And also in believing Lewis’ G-rated Dionysus. Because for reals, how can I view Dionysus as anything other than a terror after reading Euripides’ Bacchae?
That is a disturbing play on several levels. It would be a fine, gory movie, I’m sure (there was a 2002 film version…not sure if it is any good though).

I think Lewis was not being very honest about some of his characters or mythical creatures. Although he does get bonus points because I seem to recall Jewel the unicorn stabbing people, which is what I have thought for a while that unicorns ought to be doing.
I think Tolkien was honest about dragons. And backed it up with examples from myths.

*shrug*
I don’t know. I mean, yes. Okay. On a simplistic level, the stories are the same thing. Fiction. Fantasy.

But I am far more indebted to Tolkien’s writing as an influence on my knowledge, tastes, and even in aspects of my personality. And I have only briefly detailed one line of inquiry that arose from my reading those books.

*considers*
I think the purpose of posting this is mostly just because I am not good at collecting my thoughts in conversations, but I thought he would probably see this post eventually. I like to think so. And maybe see then that I have a reason for saying that I disagreed with him.

Not that it matters.
I just like him to know that I am still thinking about a thing we talked about.

And that I think at all.

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